


Lady of the Tides

by merryminstrel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adult Content, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Feels, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Control Issues, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Everyone Has Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Humor, Grief/Mourning, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss, Love, Lyrium Withdrawal, Magic, Muteness, Mystery, POV First Person, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Fluff, Satinalia (Dragon Age), Sexual Tension, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Spoilers, Starting Over, Tension, Trespasser DLC spoilers, True Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a lot of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 239,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryminstrel/pseuds/merryminstrel
Summary: „There was ice in his aura, and fire in his eyes.”Far removed from the conflicts between the land-dwelling folk, Selkie has travelled the high seas on her family ship, the Tidedancer, all her life. Nobody ever knew that her mysterious powers were what had made the infamous pirate vessel uncatchable. Or did they?When the Tidedancer is attacked by a Tevinter battleship, the young mage can do nothing to avert disaster. Ship-wrecked, frightened and voiceless, she wakes up in a cave on the harsh Storm Coast. Alone, but not for long. She is soon picked up by Inquisitor Alec Trevelyan and his merry band of companions, who bring her to Skyhold for protection.Selkie is determined to survive her losses. To keep the secrets she was never supposed to tell. To heed the lessons her fathers had taught her: Do not trust outsiders. Especially templars. Former or otherwise. Ah, but when do plans ever work out the way they should?





	1. Prologue: Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, I'm writing Dragon Age romance again... It's just too much fun. And I'm still not over my Cullen-infatuation. Maybe I never will be, which is fine by me!
> 
> This fic is a bit different in terms of setting. The main character is an OC who comes to the Inquisition after being rescued by them. I admit that the magic described here was inspired by the Waterbenders from Avatar, and I kind of "implemented" it into the Dragon Age world. It was so much fun exploring that! I'm not sure if there are actual mages who can influence water that way in the DA universe, so if there are I'm sorry if it's not exactly canon. The romance build-up here is slow but I think it has nice tension and a lot of character development. And yes, the tension IS resolved... sometime in the future. There'll be romance, tension, drama, adventure, mystery! The plot is quite elaborate and builds up over time. But I guess I'll just jump right in with this one!
> 
> Chapters with - The Weaver - are from Selkie's POV  
Chapters with - The Vanguard - are from Cullen's POV
> 
> **New!! My Artworks for LotT:**  
[Cullen](https://i.imgur.com/8YwHGb0.jpg)  
[Selkie](https://i.imgur.com/2MDtQFR.png)

### I. Prologue: Drowning

_The Weaver_

* * *

* * *

I have never feared the sea. We fear the things we cannot understand. For the longest time, I had thought the sea to be the one thing I understood completely. All my life, she had been a companion to me. As any companion, the waters could be treacherous at times. They could erupt in anger, burying the little man-made wood constructions we used to travel the inscrutable depths. The waves could be gentle on some days, mischievous on others.

I had learned to run the ever-moving deck of a ship without stumbling, scouring the railings and climbing the masts. The sway of the waves had been to me what a mother’s hand is to a cradle, rocking me to sleep in the night. Singing me lullabies with the voice of the water. And I had always known we were connected, attuned to each other, our life-force humming in unison. It had never occurred to me that she might let me come to harm. Until the day I drowned.

The day I understood my folly. I remembered only torn bits, scraps of scenery flashing before my eyes as I sank into the deep. Our ship had gotten caught within a raging tempest. The storm had come out of nowhere. Lightning crackled across the blackened sky, the water churning beneath the hull like the body of a gargantuan beast. The sea reared, shuddering and tossing us around as if we were nothing more than tiny pests clinging to her skin.

Voices were everywhere around me, panicked screams of our sailors as they tried desperately to bring the ship under control. Wood groaned beneath my feet, and within the innards of our trusted Tidedancer, I heard things crack and splinter. The storm screeched above with such deafening volume, I had to shield my ears from the rising cacophony.

Without warning, a hand caught my arm in a painful grip, righting me from my protective crouch. Before I could react, a wave clashed against our broadside, spewing saltwater onto the entire deck. I was ripped from my feet, but strong arms shielded me against the impact.

“Why the fuck are we still drifting?” My ears still rang with the enraged yell when I was hauled upwards again. Next I knew, I was staring into my father’s merciless features. He looked more forbidding than I had ever seen him. The gale had taken his captain’s hat, whipping his silver-streaked hair into an utter mess. Lightning arced between the clouds, painting him as a picture of stark contrasts. White and black, shadow and light colliding on his face, making the long scar across his cheek look like a brutally slashed brushstroke.

“Where is Ariu?”, he barked at me, but before I could answer, he dragged me along the slippery deck towards the bowsprit. “And why are you not weaving?!”

“I don’t know –“, I gasped, panic rising in me even more swiftly than the tides. I was frightened out of my wits. I could not summon my magic. Something was terribly wrong.

“I can’t feel the water –“

My father stopped short abruptly as another violent lurch threatened to overturn our vessel, but he kept screaming orders at his men without relent. I saw one sailor lose his footing on the slick wooden beams. He’d been too close to the railing – and a second later he fell like a ragdoll into the depths below. I cried out in anguish, tears blurring my vision, but my father shook me so harshly I felt my bones rattle against each other.

“Pull yourself together, Selkie!”, he commanded in a voice that made chills travel down my spine. It was his captain’s voice, and the captain’s orders must always be obeyed. I gave a shaky nod.

“Captain! We have company!”, one of the men cried. My father’s head snapped up as though he’d been struck.

“Colours?”

“It’s fucking Tevinter! The shits came out of nowhere! Why would they follow us _here_ –”

My father gave me a wild look then, and I doubted I would ever forget the fear written onto his face. It was unthinkable. He feared nothing. I felt as though my heart had switched places with my stomach. Our sailors kept yelling at each other above the storm’s thunderous roar.

“They’ll ram us!”

“Evade! Come about, damn it! Protect our broadside!”

One glimpse over the railing gave me a view of our attacker. It was a Tevinter battleship, huge in size. A design I had never seen before, because these vessels of destructive power rarely left their home waters. A great red dragon was painted onto its black sails, undulating with the fabric as it was lashed around by the tempest.

Lightning flashed again, and for a moment the thing looked alive, as if it might tear itself free to swoop down on our heads. Scorch the very flesh from our bones. Reduce us to cinders. I’d always known I would die by fire. It was my greatest fear. Nothing terrified me more.

The ship’s figurehead was no less intimidating, shaped into some chimaera creature between human and serpent. Forging its way relentlessly towards our portside. At this speed, it would split us in half –

“Haul wind! Brace! Get us the fuck out of reach!”, my father commanded, pulling me away from the railing.

“Matthias!” We both whirled when we heard Ariu’s voice. He hurtled towards us despite the constant tossing and turning, miraculously keeping his balance even though the entire ship teetered out of control. As soon as he arrived, my father pushed me into his arms as if handing over a doll to him. They shared a quick, intense look I could not decipher within all the chaos.

“Take her. Take a boat and get her as far away from here as you can.” The captain almost growled his order. Ariu’s smooth features were stricken, stunned. I moved to protest. I couldn’t leave them! The Tidedancer, the crew –

“Brace for impact!”

“Selkie –“

I felt my father’s hand on my face for a mere second. He had never touched me with such tenderness before, not even as a child. I felt Ariu grip my shoulders. And then the world burst apart. The Tevinter ship tore through us like a blade through tender flesh.

My ears exploded when the two ships clashed. I lost solid ground beneath my feet. The impact flung me into the air, and all I saw were pieces flying past me. The broken shards of a mirror. The shattered slivers of my life. No anchor to tether me. No qai from the sea below. No magic within me. I should have been able to save them. Get them out of the storm by weaving the tides. As my body soared and hit the cold water, I realized how powerless I was. Weak. I’d always been so damn weak.

The waves crashed over me, pulling me into the depths below. I opened my eyes even though they stung and burned, and watched as streaks of lightning lit up the darkness around me. It happened sluggishly, as though time stood still in these moments when everything I held dear disintegrated around me. As though cruel fate wanted me to experience it in full force. I saw bodies drift into the watery grave, pieces of the Tidedancer sinking slowly into the void, embraced by the sea. Then blackness descended again. My limbs grew heavy with cold. My lungs filled with chilling water.

I didn’t know why I opened my mouth, to whom I wanted to cry out. To my fathers, maybe, out of some childish wish for comfort, although I was much too old for such things. To the sea herself, demanding why she had betrayed me today. To the Maker, perhaps – a god I had never truly believed in, asking why my life should be ended by the very thing I had loved so dearly.

What did it matter? Words were meaningless now. I would die here, before I’d had a chance to truly live. Alone, cold, helpless. This was my time at the end of time. This was no time at all.

I thought I heard something answer me. I thought I felt the touch of something, a mind brushing over mine. But it was too late. The world darkened around me, going silent and still.


	2. II. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos!! I'll just keep the chapters coming until the story has developed a bit more. It takes some time, but I think it's more natural this way. :) By the way, the meaning of the word "qai" is explained later in the story.

### II. Lost and Found

_The Weaver_

* * *

I recall very little about the first time I awoke and realized that I was not dead. There were voices around me, speaking in a language I did not recognize. I remember being afraid, feeling strange, violent, malicious aura_s_ everywhere, surrounding me. Reacting on mere instinct to protect myself against their wickedness. The only thing I remembered clearly before I fell unconscious again was the sensation of being choked.

It was as though scorching hands had closed around my throat, trying to pull the very soul out of my body. Maybe this was what came after death, a strangulating void, a baptism of fire – and I was doomed to be tortured forever by demons. But then the hands were gone as suddenly as they had come, and I sensed a vital part of me leaving my lungs together with my breath. I should have felt alarmed by that, in retrospect. But then… it was dark again.

“Boss. You should come look at this.”

What now? Could it be that I was still alive? Where was I? I remembered… drowning. Suffocating. I had been ready to be gone. Become one with the sea. But everything else seemed to trickle away from me like ink on waterlogged parchment. My mind drew a complete blank.

And now… I had awoken… Somewhere. What fresh torment could this be? My senses did not return in the order I commanded them to. I wanted to see, but my hearing came back to me first, together with an all-encompassing feeling of numbness. Paralyzed. And cold. I tried to ignore the stinging pain in my limbs, the block of ice that seemed to have replaced my insides. Footsteps, echoing back from somewhere. A cave, maybe, or a cavern. I could hear the soft gurgle of water against rocks, but not the distinct rushing noise of the sea.

“What did you stumble on, Bull?”, questioned a clear voice. It was unmistakably male, cultured, with a little lilt I knew from sailors imitating it, mockingly of course. Noble speech. From the Free Marches, specifically. The footsteps grew louder now. I thought I heard several sets, but one pair was so heavy and thumping that I really could not be sure how many there were.

“Huh, I don’t think I can explain it in so many words.” I recognized this as the voice that had woken me. This one was so impossibly deep, it seemed to crawl over the ground towards me. I felt it resonate within the cave, wondering about the strange inflection in it. Qunari? That couldn’t be. I must be mistaken.

“Andraste’s great flaming ass!” This colourful curse came from a third person, also male, and decidedly dwarven, judging by his accent. By now I was stirring feebly on the cold ground, but my eyes were still refusing me their service. My surroundings seemed to blur into one uniformly dark shape, yet I could make out a diffuse little light, bobbing from side to side in the distance.

“Well, I’ll say. This sodden cave at the edge of nowhere did not agree with my fellow countrymen.”, spoke a fourth voice, dripping with sarcastic wit. And a Tevinter accent!

I twitched, feeling a sharp stone dig into my hip. What on earth were a Free Marches noble, a dwarf, a Qunari and a man from Tevinter doing here, together? Such a company sounded like the beginnings of a bad joke. So, these four guys walk into a tavern, and the Qunari says to the barman ‘Bring me the strongest drink you have’…

I had to fight the mad impulse to giggle, which made me fairly sure that the lack of air had given me brain damage. I blinked several times, wondering if I’d imagined that the bobbing light came closer. At the back of my mind, a madwoman raged and wailed, clawing at the doors.

I chose not to know of that. Instead, I let my awareness drift out around me and tried to perceive the auras of this strange group. They were a very unusual quartet. One of them – I suspected this was the man from Tevinter – had a brilliantly intense qai somewhat similar to mine, at least I recognized some of my own characteristics in him. A mage. He was colourful, like a bird of paradise.

The second one appeared to me as a lively river, always adapting his course, moving with purpose and strength. He was also very _large_. The Qunari, I hedged.

The third one must have been the dwarf, because his aura was better hidden than the others, slightly muted, a bit like a stream running beneath solid stone.

And the fourth one, the nobleman… He was too bright, although the sense I perceived him with could not be called sight at any length.

I couldn’t describe what I felt from him. He had been touched by something immensely powerful, and that somehow drowned out everything that was truly his, so I could not see his true qai at all. It exhausted me just to look at him.

While my sixth sense dissipated again, my actual physical eyesight finally reasserted itself. I glimpsed the dark cave around me. At the far end, I saw the torchlight coming my way. The big problem was… I also saw what had shocked them. And my insides went even colder.

Bodies were strewn everywhere. At least a dozen. And all of them were staring into nothingness with glassy, dead eyes. My mouth opened for a scream, but no sound escaped me. Panicked, I scrambled to stand, only to be betrayed by my battered, weakened body. I crawled a few feet further, backwards into the dark maw of the cave, until my hands found water. Looking out behind me, I saw a small, underground lake – it probably connected to the sea outside. My broken mind wondered if the tide was in.

“No wounds on these, Boss. Swords didn’t kill them, nor any other kind of weapon. Actually… I cannot tell _what_ killed them.”, the Qunari said, bringing my thoughts back to the intruders.

“No spell, either. Or at least I can see no residual magic. They appear to have just… fallen over dead. I’d say good riddance, but now I’m a bit concerned that we might meet with the same fate. If it’s not spiders, it’s some other silent, creeping promise of death. Maker, I hate caves.”, Tevinter mused. The torches would soon be close enough so they would see me. I thought about running. Not happening. I could barely move. And besides, there was this nagging, persistent thought in my head… A memory, perhaps, trying desperately to make itself known…

“Their clothes are wet, and I smell salt-water. Hold the torch higher, Bull.”, the dwarf said, and the man named Bull obeyed. I saw them clearly now.

The Qunari was so big – he towered over them all, although the two humans were not shortly built either. I recognized the Tevinter mage by his clothes, which were much more elaborate than the other man’s, who wore a combination of light armour and practical leather. Still, both were dressed in high quality fabrics, that much I could discern. The dwarf seemed the least battle-prepared of them all with his bright red shirt open at the front – making me wonder how on earth he did not freeze his nipples off in this chill.

And yet he was the one who saw me first, raising a big, deadly-looking crossbow to point right at me. Other weapons were unsheathed, including two staves and one very intimidating two-handed axe. I flinched, but fought down the overwhelming urge to flee. I would not get far enough away. Now was the time to heed Ariu’s teaching: When cornered, take the path of least resistance.

“Who are you?”, the human with the blinding aura called out to me. “If you are a refugee, you have nothing to be frightened about. But if you associate yourself with Venatori, I fear things are a bit more complicated. State your name!”

I readied myself to speak. My mouth opened, my lips moved, my tongue formed words. And yet not a single syllable emerged. No matter what I tried, or how hard I worked my throat, I could not utter a sound. It was not that I had forgotten how. I _knew_ how. It felt as though my vocal chords simply chose not to obey, and I realized with a horrifying certainty that somehow, impossibly, I had been rendered mute. Lost my voice.

“That does not look good.”, the Qunari murmured as the group closed in on me in a slow, deliberate pace. My mind still reeled, unable to form a coherent thought. What was I supposed to do if I could not speak? A strange, choked noise came from my throat. Nothing else. I then experienced the immense frustration of wanting nothing more than to scream myself hoarse, and being denied by cruel fate.

“She’s unarmed. And… That is not a Venatori uniform. Actually, I don’t think I have ever seen…”, the Tevinter mage came to a halt a few feet away, rubbing his chin pensively. His perfectly groomed black moustache tilted as his lips pulled into downward curve.

“I have. I had a friend in Kirkwall, former pirate. Looks somewhat close to what they used to wear, but you know – I’m not a fashion expert.”, the dwarf weighed in, dropping his crossbow and eyeing me with some interest.

I wondered what a sight I made, having no idea how I looked. My hair must have been a mess, my damp clothes sticking to my skin. I had lost my dagger in the sea, not that I had ever used it. And my belt. And the tiny pendant given to me by Ariu. The loss of it distressed me the most. It was my only treasure. The beaten state of my body told me I would be bruised, but I felt no broken bones or other major injuries. Except for my missing voice.

“Pirate, huh? Harding said a ship went down recently. Horrible storm. Maybe –“ The Qunari’s words had me sit up arrow-straight, despite the pain shooting down my spine. I gestured wildly towards myself and then the water behind me, but my ridiculous display only seemed to confuse them. The human with the bright qai stepped forward, making me shrink away from his stifling aura.

“Don’t be afraid. We do not hurt the innocent. Were you in the ship-wreck?”, he asked in a tone of voice one might have used on a slow-witted person. I looked away from him, disconcerted, but nodded. I figured it to be the only possible option. I remembered drowning, but before… Before…

“What’s your name?” The dwarf stepped forward, shouldering his crossbow. He held out his hands unthreateningly in front of him, as though showing me that he wished to do no harm. It reassured me, that gesture. His voice was gentle, but that made everything worse. I shook my head, burying my face into my hands. What had happened? The Tidedancer… My fathers… Ship-wrecked. Had I lost everything? Had anyone but me survived? But I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember anything.

_You can_, a tiny whisper spoke from the depths of my shivering heart. _You just don’t want to_.

“She’s in shock. Maker, what happened here?”, Bright murmured, clearly unsettled by my quivering, silent sobs.

“Boss. This one had some orders on him. Soaked, but still readable: ‘The ‘Kelpie’ is a woman. Black hair. Small in stature. Secure her at all costs and bring her to the agreed location. Alive. You have my permission to deliver the Tidedancer to the bottom of the sea.’ It’s signed with ‘C.L.’” Those words snapped me out of my stupor.

Kelpie. The stupid mythical creature other sailors had used to explain why the Tidedancer had never been captured. They didn’t know that the reason was partly me, partly my father Matthias’s expert navigation. But I had woven the tides for us. Escape after escape, the story had become spread among the pirate armada that the Tidedancer was favoured by the gods of the sea, under the protection of the Kelpie. It was ridiculous, really. There was no such thing as a Kelpie.

Most of the stories were wildly exaggerated, of course. But my fathers allowed the rumours to flourish, because mystique fostered fear and awe, and those were the first lines of defence against other pirates. These dead men… These Venatori as the others had called them. They had been after me. They had known about me, even though my fathers had worked tirelessly to keep me hidden, protected by superstition and legends.

“Excuse the foreigner, but what is a Kelpie?”, the Tevinter mage asked nobody in particular. Even in my panicked, out-of-my-wits state I noticed that he was a very handsome fellow, with hair as black as mine and a flawless, almost golden complexion. The Qunari beside him out-muscled even the burliest sailor’s physique, while his face struck me as utterly piratical – complete with beard, eye-patch and scars.

I flicked a glance at the noble human who now scanned the note for himself. I took care not to look at him for too long – his brightness scared me, and I couldn’t block him out. I was either too exhausted, or he was just too _much_. He had a head of abundant chestnut-coloured hair, tied into a meticulous queue at his nape. His features were, to use Ariu’s words, patrician to the last detail, leaving no doubt about a noble heritage.

Having spent my whole life on a ship with hardened sailors, I knew little about classical beauty in men – despite my five-and-twenty years. But I supposed he was handsome, in an aloof, haughty way. At last, I let my eyes wander to the dwarf. He had a bold, expressive face. It somehow made me think he was a man who smiled a lot. There were laugh-lines around his golden eyes and his wide mouth, and even right now he seemed to look at me with humour twinkling in his gaze.

“A Kelpie, Dorian dearest, is a mythical creature superstitious sailors believe in. I think the legend originates from eastern Ferelden. It is said that Kelpies are water spirits who like to lead unsuspecting people astray. They take the form of a giant horse with a mane of sea-spray.”, the dwarf explained wryly.

I made no move to confirm or disavow this story. It was impossible to say if they could be trusted. What their agendas were. _Trust none who walk the land. People are selfish. They will try to use you for their own means_, my father’s warning rang clearly in my thoughts. But he… He wasn’t here anymore. I had nobody. The four men looked at me in befuddlement.

“Why wouldn’t you speak to us? We are not going to harm you, I promise you.”, Bright repeated himself, but I could only shake my head in frustration. I pointed at my throat, then made a motion of denial with my hand.

“I think… she can’t speak.”, this came from the Tevinter mage, whose name apparently was Dorian. He turned, slowly surveying the surroundings. The dead bodies of Venatori lying in the cave. And me, the only survivor. A terrible thought dawned on me when his shrewd eyes came back to rest on my face.

“I think this woman is ‘the Kelpie’ they were looking for. Black hair. Slight stature.”, he said slowly, and suddenly the weight of four gazes settled on me. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only served to make the disturbing images flashing across my lids more vivid. I felt my breath hitch, mounting to shallow, out-of-control gasps. The water behind me churned, agitated. My qai knew what I did not want to admit to myself.

“But they are dead. And she is not.”, the Qunari spun Dorian’s line of thought further. “Which leaves only one conclusion. She killed them. But how? They did not die by blunt force or even combat magic.” I pressed my hands against my ears, my head jerking violently from side to side. Don’t. Don’t say it.

“Well, if the name ‘Kelpie’ is any indication, then…”, the dwarf concluded with a strained edge in his tone. “…she drowned them. But that’s… not possible. Right?”

As he spoke those words, I remembered. I saw it in terrible detail, the moment I had awoken for the first time, surrounded by men with their weapons drawn. And while my mind had been completely blank from shock, my magic had come alive on mere instinct. Survive. Defend yourself.

I had told the water to swallow them all. The strangers were right. I’d drowned these men. I had never taken a life with my own hands, never done violence with my magic. Now I had a dozen on my conscience. I had become a murderer. In the wake of that knowledge, my mind finally cracked beneath the pressure. Unable to bear the weight of all that had happened, it fled into unconsciousness. And I felt only relief when oblivion enveloped me. 


	3. III. The Talking Fortress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for the kudos! I was surprised to get so many of them, and the fun hasn't even really started yet!  
But it will. Now, to be precise. I edited this chapter a lot, and hope it came out okay. It's difficult to write about Selkie's ability to see auras in a casual way, but I try to make it comprehensible. I also don't want to take away too much and spoil the story with explanations...  
Have fun reading!

### III. The Talking Fortress

_The Weaver_

* * *

For a long time, I drifted through peaceful silence. Undisturbed, unknowing. When reality becomes too overwhelming, we tend to flee from it, and I was no different that way. Unconsciousness had been my refuge from early childhood, when things became too much. And so I floated beneath the surface of a calm lake, without any sense of time, painless.

The water seemed to rock me gently, reminding me of home. My little cabin right next to the captain’s, the resinous smell of our ship, the scent of old maps and candle-wax. And the safety. Although we had sailed the seas and seen many places on our journey, my world had always been surprisingly small. I’d never minded.

Maybe, if I stayed in my personal limbo for long enough, I would wake to find it had all been a terrible nightmare. Voices flowed past me every once in a while, disconnected pieces of conversation.

“Terrible business, this thing. No wonder she’s in shock. I asked around. The villagers say little but splinters were washed ashore the next day. No survivors. The sea swallows ships whole here.”

Father… Ariu… Our crew. Little Pete, barely sixteen yet. Kitten, who brought me breakfast every day and always seasoned her meals with witty stories. Old Sam, who had taught me how to climb the masts even in the most precarious weather. If they were all gone… I wanted to be gone too. I wished I could have died to save them.

“The Venatori must want her badly. I just don’t get the why.”

I did. Or at least I had a vague idea. They wanted what anyone would want of me, and what many of the pirate armada had tried to get. However it was possible, they had somehow found out about my existence. They wanted me to do the only thing I truly knew: Weave the tides. For what purpose? That was anyone’s guess.

“Whatever fresh madness Corypheus is cooking up now, she is better off with the Inquisition. Isn’t that right, Alec?” I didn’t understand any of that. Cory-what? But Inquisition… that rang a bell. What had my fathers said about them? There had been something… An argument.

* * *

_“So mages and templars are killing each other openly now, instead of hiding behind a set of hypocritical rules.” _

_“It would have happened sooner or later.”_

_“I am content letting them destroy each other.”_

_“Are you, vhenan? Are you that man, the one who stands aside as the world crumbles? You can feel the tides turning. There are people who fight to keep this war from devastating the land that was once your home. They have mages in their ranks, and templars. Working together.” _

_“Ariu, stop this. You know better than I that such a thing can only be a feeble alliance at best. Once the dust has settled, they’ll be at each other’s throats again.” _

_“Maybe so. And maybe not. Isn’t it worth a try, at least? I feel a storm coming. The earth has tilted out of its axis, and the sea is agitated. It feels like the end times, Matthias. Eventually, we will meet our fates. It is the way of things. Who will protect our daughter when we become one with the sea? Who will protect her legacy? Do you think she’ll be complacently sailing along with us until the end of days? That she will never want to see the rest of the world, find purpose in life?” _

_“I… I don’t know. But I don’t want her dragged into this holy war. Every time the world changes, it’s for the worse. Why should this time be different?” _

_“You always were a hopeless pessimist. Even back when we first met. Do you truly have no faith left in you?” _

_“I don’t need faith. I have you for that.” _

_“So, you’ll just keep sailing us into murky waters. Hiding from change.” _

_“Have a care, husband. Why are you suddenly so bent on this course? You never were before.” _

_“Because above all, this is about _balance_. Restoring order to something that has tipped wildly out of scale.” _

_“Maker, I can’t abide it when you are sensible. Fine. Let us finish this contract. When we get to Jader, we’ll look at this Inquisition of yours. Don’t expect me to be easily placated.” _

_“Of all the things you are, ‘easily placated’ has never been one of them.” _

* * *

I had accidentally eavesdropped on this conversation between my fathers a few weeks ago. It was silent for a moment as I returned to reality. The voice that spoke next was Bright’s.

“Of course she’ll be safe with us. Although I admit that I’m a bit uneasy. We can assume by her reaction that she really killed those Venatori. But sending a dozen men after one woman? And that doesn’t count the ones who might have escaped. I have to wonder what we picked up here. Ever heard about pirate mages, Varric? Because I haven’t.” 

“Eh, no. But I heard about the Tidedancer, a few years ago. Fastest ship in the armada, led by the elusive Matthias Cornwall. He wasn’t your typical ‘pirate’, either. He was somewhat of a vigilante, if there is such a thing among pirates. My friend Isabela once told me that Cornwall didn’t mingle much with his own kind – but he was the best treasure hunter far and wide. And that’s high praise, from a woman who once stole the Tome of Koslun.” There was a short, laden silence interrupted by a high whistle, probably from Bull.

“Well, anyway… Cornwall’s ship came and went like a ghost. There is even an expression: To do a Cornwall. Means to disappear without a trace. He’s never been caught… Until now, I guess. There goes the legend.”

I had failed them. Unwilling to face the horrible truth, I sank back into darkness. 

When I awoke again, it was because of the _noise_. It assaulted me from every direction, humming, a constant whisper of countless voices. I jolted up, momentarily blinded and deafened by the sheer discord around me. My qai screeched in agony. I felt so many _things_, living and breathing and talking, but I also felt a giant other presence, a monster made from lifeless stone. Still it droned and murmured, like a chaotic ghostly symphony. I had to leave this place!

“What in the Maker’s –“, Bright exclaimed, so close to me I flinched away from him. I cast a wild glance around me, briefly registering the horse-drawn cart I perched on. The Qunari named Bull and Dorian the mage walked beside the cart, while Varric and Bright sat on it, flanking me. We had arrived into a wide courtyard.

Buzzing stone walls surrounded me on every side. The battlements were sprinkled with a thin layer of whitest snow, twinkling in the sunlight. It was the biggest structure I had ever seen in my life. The towers mounted on the walls reached impossibly high, but the fortress rising from their midst managed to dwarf everything else. The courtyard was wide enough to accommodate several frigate-size ships. I would have been awed by the scenery if my qai had not been in utter pandemonium. There was too much clamour in this place, in the very foundations of it. Too many souls both alive and long gone, pressing against my senses. Panicked beyond words, I fled.

“Hey, wait!”, Varric called out to me, but I was already stumbling off the cart. Somehow I landed on my feet, but clearly I had not found my land-legs yet. I swayed and fell after a few steps, clutching my head between my arms. Sea. Water. Anyone. Help me! Make the noise stop! I knew it answered me because I heard several people gasp in surprise, some even cried out in shock. I didn’t want to hurt them, I just wanted the whispers silenced. Protect yourself. Survive.

“Maker’s sodden balls. Alec, have you ever seen magic like that?”, I heard Varric say, his voice muffled by the water barrier I had erected around myself. It helped to quiet the onslaught of sensations, a bit.

“No. It looks like a shield. I have seen ice barriers, but that is actual flowing water. Did you see her summon it just from the environment? Amazing.“

I kept rocking forward and back, trying to imitate the sea’s motions, trying desperately to calm myself. My body lay curled up on a soft bed of foliage, a bit damp from snow. I kept my barrier up, withdrawing into myself, while a veritable commotion broke out around me.

“What have you brought us here, Inquisitor? Welcome back, in any case. Oh.”

The aura of this person preceded his voice. If Alec was Bright to my senses, then this man was Flood. Like Alec, like this talking fortress, he was _too much_. I felt sadness break over me, a drenching, frightening pressure on my consciousness. A terrible grief, reaching back through the ages. It was so vast. If he came any closer, I would drown in the flood of his aura. I strengthened my barrier, summoning more layers.

“Solas, I’m glad to see you. I don’t know how to describe this situation, much less how to deal with it.”

“You found a Waterweaver. I thought they had all disappeared.”, Flood spoke with a measured, calm voice that completely clashed with his roaring _presence_.

“You know this kind of magic? As soon as we entered Skyhold, she jumped off the cart and did… that. She looks as if she’s in pain. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. I wanted her safe from the Venatori –“

“It is alright, Alec. I have read only stories, but maybe I can help.”

He did something then. I cannot describe it properly, but he made everything around me just quiet enough to be bearable. And around his own flood, he built a dam to contain it, but he did it so casually and quickly I almost thought I had imagined the strange ring to his magic, somehow similar to the stone’s whispers.

I slowly let my arms sink away from my face and dared to look around me. By now, dozens of people had gathered in the courtyard where I had made such a fool of myself. There were too many of them for me to discern them all individually, and this whole ordeal had already drained me of my remaining strength. I allowed my water barrier to lower, seeping back into the ground.

“No, please. Stay back for now.”, Solas said, and although his tone was quiet, it carried an audible hint of authority. He had spoken to someone behind me. Whoever it was, they heeded his request.

The back of my neck prickled with awareness. _Danger_, my instincts told me. Yet before I could turn around, Solas caught my attention by walking closer. The others – Alec, Varric, Dorian and Bull, they kept standing at a respectful distance, observing. I flicked a glance over Solas. Despite having dampened his aura, he still unsettled me. His features were sharp and serious, like those of a statue hewn to impart some severe lesson on its viewers. His head was completely bald, shiny as the surface of a pearl in the midday sun. He walked with a feline grace, reminding me inexplicably of Ariu.

I didn’t meet his eyes, even though he was looking at me curiously. I rarely looked anyone directly in the eye, except my fathers. I couldn’t even really pinpoint why. Maybe because people’s true nature was more evident in their eyes, and I felt uncomfortable – not to mention rude – staring directly into it. I already spied on them by way of their auras. The least I could do was to avoid intensifying that intrusion. 

Solas came to a halt three or four feet in front of me. He seemed to sense that I didn’t want him any closer. I felt bizarre, torn from my native environment and tossed into a completely foreign one. A fish out of water.

“Is it better now?”, Solas asked quietly. I nodded, then gave a half-shrug. I could still hear the stone whispering. Suddenly I was incredibly exhausted. I sank back to the ground listlessly, uncaring about the discussion that broke out between the people who had brought me to this strange place.

I couldn’t even bring myself to feel fear about the distinctly threatening _presence _nearby that sent shivers down my spine. It was a coiled spring, or perhaps some predatory animal just one second short of pouncing. But human, too… Strange. Weary and dejected, I turned my head to see its source, but at that moment Solas reached for me. His hand settled onto my shoulder, and I felt magic in his touch, a very simple spell. Sleep. Too tired to object, I let darkness pull me under again.

* * *

“I do not wish to question your judgement on this, Inquisitor, but I must express my very serious concerns. An untrained mage, who uses magic unknown to us, and is capable of killing a dozen Venatori without realizing it? With all the other mages here, and spirits, and everything… How do we know you haven’t brought a potential target for a demon into our midst?”

Yet another new voice. Deep, contained, but with an undercurrent that clearly declared displeasure about my person. Even so, this newcomer held a position of power, I knew that by the cadence of his words, delivered with the discipline of a soldier. Or a man who led soldiers. Perhaps both.

“Commander, you tend to ignore the difference between ‘untrained’ and ‘unharrowed’ too often for my taste. I am quite certain that she has been _trained_. With what little I know about Waterweavers, I can tell you one thing – they are different from mages you might have known. I think that Skyhold… overwhelmed her. Her magic reacted to protect her. From what Alec told me about the Venatori she killed, that might have been an instinctive reaction to a life-threatening situation. That doesn’t mean she’s violent by nature.” I sighed heavily, almost relieved. I had an advocate here. Solas spoke in my defense, and his assessment was uncannily accurate.

“Oh, she’s waking up.”, Varric remarked. He was close, as though he stood right beside me. I lay on a soft mattress, my head pillowed comfortably. It would have been wonderful just to stay here, without having to face the strangers who likely had a thousand questions I couldn’t answer.

“Maybe we should keep this gathering small. Cassandra, Leliana, if you don’t mind? And Bull, you should probably leave too… There is little air in any room that has you in it.”, Alec said apologetically.

“Well now that hurts my feelings, Boss.”, the Bull answered in a fake wounded tone. I thought I heard some subdued chuckles.

“As long as Cullen stays. If any foul magic occurs, as a templar he should be able to contain it.”, a woman interjected sternly. Her voice held the steely edge of a well-oiled blade.

“Former templar.”, the ‘soldier’ corrected. A familiar prickle travelled over my skin. His had been the aura I had felt in the courtyard, all whirring power, ready to strike should I take one step out of line. I shivered. When the footsteps receded, and the air didn’t feel as burdened by too many people anymore, I felt confident enough to open my eyes.

They had brought me into a sparsely furnished room, the only fixtures besides the bed being a carved wardrobe and a small table in one corner. A single oil-lamp burned on the table, leaving the majority of the room in shadow.

It illuminated Varric and Solas, both of them sitting on chairs at my bedside. Although I could only see their vague silhouettes, I sensed the soldier-man and Bright standing sentinel in the darkness. No, I corrected myself. The former _templar._ I’d always wondered if I would come face to face with one someday. While Bright – no, I reminded myself, Alec – seemed relaxed, the other man’s stance was rigid, tense, and his _qai_…

I could make no sense of it. Solid, unyielding, a lake frozen over by a thick layer of ice – but somehow there was a whole surfeit of things beneath that ice, waters teeming with life. And… a flame. A flame underneath ice, below water. I straightened, cocking my head curiously. I had never seen a conflicting aura such as this. So much disagreement, and yet… co-existence? Order within disorder? It made me forget my precarious situation, and for a moment I just stared. 

“I wonder what she sees in you, Commander.”, Solas said softly, an interested glint in his eye.

“I imagine nothing, since she cannot see me.”, the Commander answered eventually. I thought I heard an annoyed sigh in his words.

“Doubtful. I am not speaking about eyesight.”, Solas stated as though his meaning was obvious. Then he turned to me. “We must have given you a proper scare, haven’t we?”

I slid my gaze over his for a moment, then nodded slowly. Aye, their talking fortress had scared the living daylight out of me. Come to think of it, the noise was much less pronounced here, or at least the ‘stone’s song’. I heard other things though, people speaking to each other somewhere below, the sound of a lute, the clinking of glass and cutlery…

“You’re in Herald’s Rest, the keep’s tavern. Solas said that Skyhold’s ‘residual magic’ wouldn’t disturb you as much here, because this building was constructed much later, not by whoever built the fortress foundations a gazillion years ago. He’s our expert on weird shit, but I would have brought you here anyway. Taverns must agree with your pirate ways, right?”, Varric explained, making me crack a tiny smile at him. I liked the dwarf. He didn’t seem to view me with the same wariness – or even hostility – I had felt from the others.

“I am sorry that your arrival here was off to such a… rocky start.”, Alec spoke up now, stepping forward and out of the shadows. I squinted, trying hard to keep looking at him through the glare, because it seemed disrespectful to avert my eyes while he apologized to me. But I just couldn’t.

“I realize you might not want anything to do with us after we subjected you to –“, he began, but Solas cut him short.

“Wait a moment, Inquisitor…”, he said with a halting gesture, then addressed me with a serious expression. “Can you see the Anchor?”

Anchor? I knew he meant the thing that made Alec so blinding, but I would never have called it an _anchor_. An anchor was heavy, grounding ships to the ocean floor. But perhaps this was a different kind of anchor, rather pulling things close than keeping them in place. A beacon, maybe? Still, I nodded once and then pointed at him before covering my eyes. I wished to impart that I didn’t avoid his gaze because I meant to be rude.

“It might be similar to how Cole sees you. I am confident that she will grow accustomed to it, but right now you may be too much to look at, Alec.”, Solas elaborated.

“I always knew my looks could be blinding.”, Alec smirked at me, and it almost felt friendly. Varric scoffed. This all was… not what I had expected.

“So, since we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, my name is Alexander Trevelyan, and I am the appointed leader of the Inquisition. I prefer Alec to ‘Inquisitor’ or ‘Herald’ though. We have brought you here to Skyhold, our base of operations, because we feared what the Venatori would do to you if they caught you.”

He held out a hand to me expectantly. I took it cautiously, my face probably showing the trepidation I felt. They were acting cordial right now, but I had not forgotten the towering shape of the soldier in the shadows. The Commander who was here to subdue me should I allow my magic to run wild. The templar. Mage-hunter.

Besides the conversation between Matthias and Ariu, I had heard about the Inquisition, but only a few stories. They were a very recently formed, colourful band of people who had raised a considerable force out of thin air, fighting to bring peace to the lands sundered by war. Ariu had believed they might truly change things. Matthias had, as always, kept his scepticism. I now battled with those contradicting teachings.

“And I am Yours Truly, Varric Tethras, story-teller, businessman and occasional nemesis of unwitting scoundrels. This Chuckler here is Solas, one of our esteemed mages. Oh, and that bundle of joy and merriment back there is Commander Cullen. General of our distinguished army. Won’t you come out of the shadows, Curly? You are being rude.”

The Commander made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.

“No.”, he answered flatly. I gave the darkness a quick glare, before bestowing a friendly nod on both Varric and Solas.

Varric leaned in and whispered. “Don’t mind him. He’s kind of a wet blanket.”

“Since you seem unable to speak, we have brought some parchment and ink as a way for you to communicate. Maybe we should start with a name?”, Alec said, handing me a flat wooden plate with fresh vellum spread across it. He placed an inkwell and quill on the nightstand next to the bed. I froze for a moment, looking at the items uncertainly. I could read and write, but not very well.

I was afraid that I would make a fool of myself with my chaotic, simpleton letters. But these people had rescued me, and were even offering to keep me safe from further attacks by the men who were looking for me. At the very least, I had to try. Dipping the quill cautiously, I wrote one word on the pristine white parchment. My name.

_Selkie_

I showed them by pointing the quill at my writing, then at myself.

“Selkie, then, not Kelpie?”, Alec asked, his brows raised. He’d spoken my name with a slightly wrong inflection, but otherwise well. I nodded.

“Pirates are one superstitious bunch, throwing around names like that. But I prefer a Selkie over a Kelpie any day.”, Varric all but chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching. The smile vanished from his face when he saw Alec’s solemn expression, though.

“Selkie… I am sorry to say that we know of no other survivors from the ship-wreck of the Tidedancer on the Storm Coast shores. You have… our honest condolences. We fight the Venatori wherever we encounter them, but… It’s difficult to be everywhere at once. Sometimes they slip through our careful guards. We also don’t know why they brought such a force to capture you. Maybe you could shed some light on that... After you have rested… and mourned, of course.”

I averted my eyes, staring into dead space. I knew I would cry, and although I tried to fight it down viciously, the tears still came. I blinked them away, inhaling one shuddering breath. Keep it together. Just a bit longer. Calm. Stillness.

By some instinct I couldn’t name, I felt the weight of the Commander’s gaze on me. Maybe because all my life, I’d had only a single line of defence – my connection to the sea. I couldn’t fight. I skirted around the fight, flowed past it, skipped away into places where it couldn’t reach me. In every other aspect, I was prey. But somehow I was sure that this man whose face I had not seen yet… he was anything _but_ prey.

I looked up at Alec, meeting his eyes briefly, nodding my thanks with one hand to my heart. The men exchanged glances fraught with a meaning I couldn’t decipher. Alec moved to speak again, but at that moment, someone outside rapped on the door urgently.

“Inquisitor! Ambassador Montilyet wishes to see you at your earliest convenience. It is a matter of life and death.” Alec turned halfway, an amused flicker passing over his face.

“That’s just her way of saying ‘Be quick about it’. Maybe we should leave Lady Selkie in peace, for now.”, the Inquisitor said with a kind look at me.

“I agree. In the meantime, I will gather what I can find about the Waterweavers. It won’t be much, but maybe it will help us to understand her magic a bit better.” Solas rose fluidly from his seat.

“And I will make some inquiries to my old pirate friends, as well as consult with Dorian. Maybe between us, we can find out what the Venatori wanted with her.”, Varric said, giving me a reassuring wink. As the three of them moved to the door, the man in the shadows spoke. His voice, sonorous and steady, curled through the room even as his words hit like daggers.

“With all due respect, Inquisitor, we have not yet determined how dangerous this woman is. For all we know, she could erupt with volatile magic any second now. Is it really your wish to leave her unconfined?”

My spine snapped until it was ramrod-straight. How dare he! Did he really think I would attack my rescuers, after they had been nothing but forthcoming with me? Did he think I was some deranged savage, an animal who would lash out at random?

I felt my teeth clenching, my hands balling into tight fists. I might have grown up among pirates, but we were hardly as uncivilized as that! To be fair, the gesture did not advocate my case very well. But still… This was what I had been warned about my entire life. The mistrust for the unknown, the fear my magic would raise in others, because they didn’t understand it. But everyone had seen me weave water in the courtyard. It was too late to hide. What would be the best course of action now? Acceptance? Damage control? Lies? I must have made a sound, since all eyes turned to me.

“I don’t think she likes your assessment of her very much. But since she is not hurling dangerous magic at you, I would suggest that you… talk to her. Confinement merely on a suspicion of danger only breeds mistrust. Determine for yourself if she presents a danger or not. I trust your judgement, Cullen.”, Alec deliberated, sounding both a bit arrogant and yet also wiser than I had suspected him to be. I decided that I liked him too.

“As you wish.”, the Commander conceded neutrally, although I thought I heard resignation in his voice. The others left, and before I knew it, I was alone in the room with the ominous man in the shadows. The click of the door closing sounded like the hammer of a judge to me. Mustering every ounce of pride I still had in me, I lifted my chin, keeping my face impassive. Silently daring my accuser to face me. _You might be a mere slip of a girl, but you got some backbone on you, sprite_. Old Sam used to say that to me. I wished I had his unwavering presence to grant me strength right now.

“The good master Tethras robbed me of proper introductions, but I still feel obliged.”, his measured baritone was at least one octave deeper than was decent, and it slid through the air like honey down a teaspoon. I shuddered. What? How had that thought gotten into my head? I wasn’t one to wax lyrical about –

But then he finally stepped out of the shadows, into the cone of light, and my thoughts evaporated altogether.

First of all, he was tall. Taller than both Solas and Alec, maybe even taller than my father, who I now had to knock off his pedestal as the tallest man I knew. My eyes flickered over him in a panicked fashion, taking in the imposing silver armour that made him look larger than life, even more so with the thick, fur-lined cloak he wore around his broad shoulders. The breastplate was decorated with an elaborate symbol I didn’t recognize, the metal gleaming in the lamplight.

I glimpsed the long sword secured to his belt, its blade lying dormant within the unassuming scabbard. His gloved hand rested lightly on the hilt, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to draw it just now. I felt no threat in his posture. Just a peculiar vigilance. I had a fleeting impression that I wasn’t the only fish out of water in the room. At last, I dared to look at his face. I shouldn’t have.

He didn’t boast the clean-cut, aristocratic beauty Alec called his own, nor the sinuous sleekness I had seen in Solas. The Commander’s features were more angular, almost striking – and yet everything about him bespoke the hardened veteran inside. His high, defined cheekbones, the resolute jawline, the strong, tenacious chin – complete with a sprinkle of unshaved bristles. A faint scar climbed his upper lip in a perfectly straight line, which lent his warrior-like severity a dauntless element.

Otherwise, his face was a study in finely chiselled discipline. I couldn’t quite reconcile his arresting appearance with the animosity I had felt in the courtyard. The Commander lifted a gloved hand, raking his fingers through his hair. It was the colour of pagan gold. No man should have hair like that. I had delayed looking into his eyes, but I knew I couldn’t put off the inevitable forever. And so I slid a glance at him, ready to face whatever I would see.

Have you ever missed a step in the dark? Felt that swooping sensation lift your stomach for a split second as you fall freely? It was what I felt when Cullen’s amber gaze met mine for the first time. An electrifying jolt of awareness, balanced on the tipping point between fear and giddy excitement.

He surveyed me with inquisitive attention, and a generous measure of caution. As if he couldn’t quite decide what to make of me. Where to place me within the neat catalogue of his mind. And yet… His eyes burned with a determination I couldn’t fathom. It was too much all of a sudden, and I had to look away lest that singular fire seared right through me.

I had been wrong. I had seen him as a frozen lake, but wondered if I had to reassert my first impression. Maker, these people were exhausting me already. Too many new experiences, too many convoluted auras. I had lived a simple life until now. But whatever I had gotten myself into here was as far from simple as I could possibly get. An acute pang of homesickness stabbed me right in the heart, and I had to concentrate on breathing through the pain.

I wondered if the Commander had felt the same jolt as I had, because he was silent for an awkwardly long time. Then he cleared his throat, his armour clinking and clanking as he sat down on the chair Solas had occupied. It creaked dubiously, a fragile construction not fashioned to hold a man of his physique.

“As you now know”, Cullen addressed me calmly, “My name is Cullen Rutherford, and I command the Inquisition’s forces. Furthermore, I am the Inquisitor’s military advisor, and responsible for the safety of everyone under my command.”

He paused there, as though waiting for me to acknowledge his words. I tilted my head into a small nod, fixating on a bit of defiant fur at the edge of his cloak. His stance betrayed the perpetual tension of a man who was always expecting something unexpected to happen. Aye, if he felt responsible for everyone’s safety, he must be constantly vigilant, on the look-out for danger. What a wearisome way to live. I knew a tiny stirring of sympathy, which made me frown at myself.

“I apologize for my… rudeness. It is a remnant of my templar days, the suspicion for unknown magic. I don’t… understand what you do, what potential your power has – to be destructive, uncontrollable.”, Cullen explained.

He sounded so honest that I looked at him, although it was anything but easy. This day was getting stranger by the minute. One surprise after another, but this one was… a good kind. _Tread carefully,_ a nagging voice cautioned me. I intended to, yet my instincts were calm. There had been danger here, but it was gone now. So, I nodded again, signalling that I accepted his apology. He gazed pensively at me for a lingering moment, then seemed to collect himself.

“How much do you know about the Fade? Mages, templars… The Circles?”, he asked, indicating for me to write an answer onto the parchment. I mulled his questions over, then wrote:

_“Some of all. Most about the Fade. I studied magic.” _

He read as I wrote, keeping the questions coming seamlessly.

“So you have been trained?”

_“For many years.”_

“I see… May I ask by who?”

I hesitated for a moment, pushing down my pain. Could I tell him? Probably. The name wouldn’t mean anything to him. Cullen said nothing, waiting patiently.

_“My father. Ariu.”_

He cleared his throat again. “Did your training involve means to protect yourself against the dangers of the Fade? Demonic possession?”

This question was not quite as easily answered. I debated what to do. This was a templar, and yet not. He had been fierce at first, and now calm. He had shown his distrust to me, and then apologized for it. There was ice in his aura, and fire in his eyes. His behaviour so far had swung from one end of the spectrum to the other, and I struggled to find my footing upon this unstable ground. And yet…

When I chanced a peek at him in the hopes to resolve my contradicting impressions, I found him regarding me curiously. He seemed to sense my reluctance, because something changed on his face then. Smoothed out, unstiffened.

“I don’t wish you harm.” He used a tone of voice usually employed to calm frightened creatures. And right now, I was exactly that. I took a deep breath and came to a decision. Later I would wonder what had made me disregard all the cautionary lessons of my childhood. I think it was that simple, honest reassurance of his. That absence of falsehood in his aura. Instead of writing my answer, I set down the quill and began rolling up the overlong sleeves of my tunic. The fabric had been tailored to my preferences, soft and light, because I did not like rough weaves chafing over my skin. The reason for this became apparent to Cullen as he watched my little ritual.

My tattoos came into view. Beginning just above my wrists, they wound across my forearms in elaborate patterns, midnight blue curves reminiscent of waves or perhaps vines. They had been drawn by Ariu’s needle when I had been twelve years old. I remembered the stinging pain, but also the necessity of it. These runes kept my qai clean, in balance. Protecting me from the dangers the Commander had spoken of. Demons who would seek entrance into this world by possessing those with magical talents. The true Kelpies of the world.

The tattoos were not all-powerful, and I still had to be careful, contained and judicious with my magic when I weaved the tides. But Ariu had written a part of his own wisdom into my skin, a piece of his life-force, and that kept me grounded. I sighed in frustration, missing my voice with a keening intensity. Cullen shifted on his rickety chair, likely discomfited by… well, this entire situation. I couldn’t tell what he might be thinking. He had returned to being the frozen lake, inscrutable.

“I’m sorry if my questions are dredging up unpleasant memories.”, he said at length, his tone almost… abashed? What a strange turn of events. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His physical presence seemed to fill out the small room in way that was disquietingly tangible, as though he somehow made his surroundings more solid by mere proximity. Just for the sole reason of distracting myself, I rolled down my sleeves again and began fidgeting with the seams.

“There is only one last thing… and then I’ll leave you in peace. I think I have harassed you long enough.”

This made me frown at him in confusion, momentarily forgetting all notions of nervousness he invoked in me. He’d been sensible, again. Kind, even. It had caught me off-guard, again. Did this man know the meaning of the word ‘harass’? Because he wasn’t using it right. Aye, he had been a little bit rude, and entirely suspicious. But a bully? No. Weren’t templars supposed to be bullies? Or harsh at the very least? His brows, which were several shades darker than his hair and very expressive all on their own, pulled downward into a small scowl.

I managed a thin smile despite my absconding wits, and for an instant, Cullen looked… flustered. He composed himself swiftly though, schooling his features back into a controlled expression. Despite feeling a strange heat creep up my neck, I somehow made a sweeping gesture for him to continue.

“Could you – could you show me what you do? Your magic. It would help to put my mind at ease, and I could recognize it, that is – in the future.”

It was very courteous, as far as requests from people who didn’t trust me went. I looked around the room, searching for a source of water. Ah, there. Someone had placed a silver pitcher and some cups onto the small table. I stood a bit unsteadily, very careful not to let any part of me brush against any part of him – somehow the jolt I had felt when our eyes had met had frightened me more than anything else today.

His gaze followed me as I moved across the room and came back with one of the cups. I handed it to him gingerly, and he took with the same care, as though it was some volatile substance. Sitting down at the edge of the mattress, I lifted one hand, taking care to keep my magic slow, non-threatening.

Cullen watched me as one would watch a creature of undetermined intentions, both curious and alert. I summoned the water from the pitcher, letting a few ounces float towards the cup in his hands. I may have shown off a little, making the clear liquid do a little dance mid-air, stretching it into a pattern before allowing it to splash into the cup.

My trick made me smile despite myself, despite all the horrors of the past days, despite the grief I felt hovering so very close to the surface. I had lost so much, but at least… this one connection was still with me. I could still weave. I looked at Cullen to gauge his reaction, and found him staring at me, his eyes unreadable. I admitted to being a bit disappointed. I had hoped this innocent show of my qai would incline him in my favour.

But instead, he set the cup down on the nightstand and stood quite abruptly. To my surprise, he sketched a small bow. I had never been bowed to before. Bows were for noble ladies, which I was definitely not. I wasn’t any kind of lady, really. Still reeling from this newest of first experiences, I didn’t quite catch Cullen’s words to me.

“… and I hope you will find the accommodations to your liking. Have a restful day, Lady Selkie.” He straightened, giving me a view of his formidable person at full height. I stood hastily too, bowing to him in return, and describing a sailor’s traditional farewell with my right hand. I may have skipped half of it, distracted by the acceleration of my heartbeat. Void take it – I wanted to slap myself. Cullen swept the scrutiny of his gold-brown eyes over me one last time, then turned and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was an intense first meeting :D  
I don't think they know what to think about each other yet. That will take some time. But the groundwork has been laid~


	4. IV. Stranger in a Strange Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Cullen POV time! He usually has a chapter between every few of Selkie's, but just this once he has two in a row. I enjoy writing his perspective and hope I do his character justice. I love how awkward and oblivious he is sometimes <3

### IV. Stranger in a Strange Land

_The Vanguard_

* * *

Only after I had stepped into the brisk winter air outside Herald’s Rest did I allow the strain to leave me in a long breath. When I had learned that the Inquisitor would bring a ship-wrecked pirate mage back to the keep from the Storm Coast, I had thought it to be a joke concocted by Varric’s mind. When it had turned out to be true and the mage in question had used magic I had never seen before right in the middle of the courtyard, I had been ready to draw my sword on the woman.

A rash impulse I regretted now. Alec had been right. She hadn’t attacked anyone, only used her abilities to defend herself. Speaking to this strange new guest had put some of my worries at ease, another point I had to give to the Inquisitor, who I had long suspected to be a better man than me. With each passing day, I became more certain that he had been the best – and probably only – choice to lead us in these difficult times.

If someone like me had the last word on decisions… Maybe we would accidentally be putting the wrong people behind bars. People such as Selkie – who might need protection instead of suspicion. I shook my head, regretting the movement at once. The sharp pang slicing through my temple had me wincing, and I lost my line of thought for a moment. It had been a bad day so far, solving magical mysteries aside.

I climbed the steps to the battlements, nodding to the soldiers I passed along the way. My head-aches had gotten worse lately. So had the joint pains and the nightmares. I wondered vaguely if I was heading towards a complete breakdown, questioning my decision to stop taking lyrium for the hundredth time. All of this pain could be ended in a heartbeat. It would be so ridiculously easy, to open the box on my desk and –

I came to a halt at the top of the stairs, looking out over the pine-wood forests flanking the steep mountainsides. The sun was slowly travelling closer to the western peaks. In an hour or so, it would plunge over the edge and evening would descend. Just a bit longer, and I’d be able to call another day of freedom my own. But after every day, there followed a night. And mine were never peaceful. Hardly anyone had ever willingly attempted what I was doing now, or at least I have found no records of it anywhere. It was impossible to say in what state I would emerge from this whole ordeal.

I should tell Alec… No. Not yet. If I continued to decline, I would tell him. Rubbing the persistent throb in my temple, I entered my study and noted the pile of correspondences that hadn’t been there when I’d left. No matter how many I worked through, there were always more. More things to do, more fires to put out, more posts to man, more wrongs to right… The pain reached a sudden peak, as though fuelled by the daunting tasks ahead. I hadn’t expected the head-ache to hit me so hard. It had been gone during my conversation with Selkie. Could it be called a conversation when your partner couldn’t speak?

My mind circled around that conundrum for a moment as I sat down at my desk, before it returned to the woman in question. Maybe I had been so focused on determining if she was dangerous to Skyhold’s residents that I had blocked out my head-ache. Or maybe I had been too confused… Focused and confused? That made no sense. Where was my head at today?

I snorted derisively at myself, picking up the topmost report with a vengeance. After letting my eyes pass over the sentences several times without remembering any of them, I sighed and leaned back. For all the time I spent sitting in this damn chair, it was remarkably uncomfortable.

My thoughts wandered to the circumstances of the Venatori attack on the Storm Coast. The reports Alec sent before his arrival said that a Tevinter battleship had been sighted near the shores, only days before the pirate ship named Tidedancer was destroyed in a horrible storm. The ship Selkie had been on. There was no question that the two incidents were connected. Why would the Venatori bring a formidable war-vessel so far into hostile waters, and why would they send it to capture one woman? I concurred now that she didn’t seem dangerous or violent. She didn’t seem like any pirate I had ever heard about, either.

I recalled her face when the door had closed on us, and for all she knew she had been left alone with a man who mistrusted her every word. Stubborn little chin lifted with a pride that could rival some of my best warriors, lips pulled into a resolute line. Eyes the colour of stormy seas, glinting defiance at me, daring me to judge her. And that wild mane of locks framing her pale face, just as black as the lashes framing her eyes. Like a raven’s gleaming wings. Or a ribbon of midnight sky.

Whoever had named her, they had done so aptly. She was the Selkie from the folk tales, come alive. I jerked my head to the side, annoyed at myself for letting my thoughts wander into such a strange direction. The throbbing pain in my temple dissipated a little, but I kept massaging it even so, merely out of habit. I was just about to pull the report back for another inspection when someone knocked on the door.

“Enter.”, I said, looking up to see the Inquisitor stride into the room casually. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, he always looked spry as a slice of young ginger after his meetings with the ambassador. Maybe he enjoyed political squabbles despite his constant declarations to the contrary.

“Lord Trevelyan.”, I greeted him, motioning to stand in his presence, but he waved off the formality. “Have you resolved your, ehr, ‘life and death matter’ successfully?”

“Oh, certainly. Some Orlesian marquis So-and-so, who took offense at being subjected to my sister’s husband’s scullery maid’s naked ankle during a party. Count your blessings that you weren’t born into nobility, Cullen. It’s nothing but a pain in the –“, he stopped himself abruptly, walking over to the open door and glancing around for listeners.

“Arse.”, he ended, closing the door behind him. I couldn’t help but laugh. Alec was my superior, my leader, and I would have followed the man into certain death. But his easy-going humour had made him approachable and simply… real to me, from the day we had first met. He could be deadly serious and utterly focused when he wished to, but often he lightened other people’s days by making them laugh.

I didn’t know how he did it, but I supposed it was just in his nature to take things in stride. A good quality for a leader, being able to catch people’s fancy. Sometimes I wished he would rub off on me a little, because while my orders were always obeyed without question, I was apparently still a ‘stick in the mud’, as Varric liked to remind me.

“That, I believe. And still you let Josephine drag you into these inconsequential affairs. You must have an infinite supply of patience.”, I told him. To my surprise, he gazed at me with a preoccupied expression for a moment, as though his thoughts were far away.

“Call it a guilty pleasure.”, he eventually said with a sigh. Alec took a seat on the chair across my table, folding his gloved hands neatly in front of him.

“What’s that?”, I asked, bewildered. The look he gave me was nothing short of roguish. Some sterling hero.

“You know… A guilty pleasure! Something you enjoy doing immensely, but would never tell anyone about because it’s mortifying. Or socially outlawed. Or _actually_ outlawed.” I stared at him blankly. He seemed to be enjoying my confusion, since he’d started grinning by now.

“I don’t have any such thing.”, I said, frowning as I felt a little bit more like the proverbial ‘stick in the mud’.

“Sorry, my friend. I was trying to lighten the mood. You seemed quite tense about our latest arrival in the keep. Speaking of which… How did your meeting with her go?”, he steered the topic into a different direction.

I had expected the question, but found myself at loose ends and didn’t know why. How had the meeting gone? Aside from the initial flare of hostility in her eyes, she had been cooperative after I had stepped out of the shadows. Selkie had answered my questions and even accepted my request of showing me her magic. I had caught glimpses of tired resignation in her eyes, and a deeply-seated caution. But there had also been a mounting grief there, the sense of loss she kept at bay…

Only minutes before, we had delivered the news that in all likelihood, her people had perished in the shipwreck. And still she had faced me with a steely dignity that, I had to admit, awed me. It takes a special kind of courage not to break down in the face of such absolute loss. Who _was_ she? She had avoided my gaze most of the time. Except…

“I suspect the answer to that question contains more than the word ‘Fine’, if you are thinking so hard about it.”, the Inquisitor roused me from my ruminations.

“It… went as well as was to be expected, I suppose. You were right, she doesn’t seem prone to violence or demonic possession. We shouldn’t confine her.” I wondered about the tattoos Selkie had shown me, having no idea what to make of them.

The closest comparison I could think of were the elven Vallaslin – blood writings – employed by the Dalish to mark their faces with the symbols of their deities. I implicitly decided not to tell Alec of this particular part in our conversation. It felt private somehow, as if she’d disclosed this to me in confidence. Not that I had left her much choice in my interrogation.

“Do you think there are others like her? Mages who can control water in liquid form? Solas said they disappeared long ago, their branch of magic thought to be extinct.”, Alec mused quietly.

“I haven’t been taught to recognize this sort of magic, and the templar education is thorough. If others exist, they are either very well hidden or incredibly rare.”, I answered, and then, almost as if I couldn’t stop myself, I added: “I received a demonstration… What she does, is… Nothing like the harshness of combat spells. It’s…” I trailed away, at a loss how to describe it.

“Elegant.”, Alex supplied. Surprised, I glanced at him. “I’m a mage too, Cullen. I have you to watch out for its dangers, but I do appreciate the beauty of magic. Of course, we should not forget that Selkie can literally drown people. But I knew she wasn’t a danger to us before I allowed you to ‘survey’ her. Do you know why?” I shook my head, and his face grew pensive, serious.

“The look on her face when she realized that she had killed them. The Venatori. I have seen that look more often than I care to, and you have, as well. On young soldiers after their first real battle. The understanding and horror that comes with your first kill. The rush of power… and the subsequent revulsion. She had never killed before. She had never wanted to.”

We looked away from each other, likely both remembering our own first kills. Lyrium had always dampened the memories, but I did not have that luxury anymore, if it had ever been one. The substance didn’t just draw a veil over the bad memories. In time, it takes away the good ones too. A templar should know no fear. But if the price of knowing no fear was knowing no joy either – how much humanity was truly left in us, then? I heaved a sigh, drawing my thoughts away from questions I had no answers to.

“The Venatori must be planning to use her abilities in some way. But she will be safe here, Inquisitor. We will keep her out of the enemy’s reach.” I paused momentarily, surveying him with interest. “If I may ask… What made you decide to bring her here? You could have left her at one of our outposts.”

Alec didn’t answer at once, instead he picked up the heavy wax seal I used for my official letters, twirling it between his fingers. It bore the Inquisition’s sigil, the Watchful Eye deriving from the constellation of Visus. Josephine had me choose a personal crest too, when we’d still operated from Haven, and I usually alternated between them depending on the contents of my orders. Gingerly, Alex settled the seal onto the table-top.

“She reminded me of myself.”, he said, his voice distant. “Laid low by the hand of fate, alone, lost. Ripped away from all she’d known. I just couldn’t leave her there. Besides, she fainted dead away on us and we couldn’t rouse her, so I thought the healers here were our best choice. I just hope I did the right thing. What must all of this look like to someone who’s lived out their lives on the sea?”

“Terra incognita.”, a quiet voice made both of us flinch, and we simultaneously turned our heads to see that Leliana had entered the room, as always without us noticing. The spymaster had an uncanny talent for appearing from thin air, which never failed to unnerve me. I took pride in the fact that little could slip the notice of my ever-watchful senses – but at times it almost struck me as though she did it on purpose. Just to annoy me.

“It’s an expression from Tevinter that means ‘unknown lands’. Personally, I find our new guest quite intriguing. If I had not gone into the bard’s profession, I might have become a pirate myself.”, Leliana went on, making me barely supress a grin and Alec laugh outright.

“Captain Nightingale, Terror of the High Seas. I can see it now.”, the Inquisitor still chuckled when our spymaster came to stand beside the desk.

“Please, Inquisitor. I would be Admiral.” I wanted to interject here that pirates did not have admirals – no official ones, anyway – but Leliana’s face became grave again.

“If nothing else, this woman might provide us with some valuable information. Nobody has as much intelligence on ship movements across the Waking Sea as the pirate armada – and funnily enough, there is next to nothing known about their own comings and goings. They have gotten sneaky, the sea dogs. I always wanted an inside source within the pirates.”

“Provided we can make her talk, since she seems physically unable to.”, I observed thoughtfully.

“I have already put Josephine on that issue. She said she had some ideas. The woman could make a rock talk, I’m telling you.”, Alec said, earning himself an alert, almost amused glance from Leliana. I wondered what that was about. 

“Good, then.”, she concluded at length, before addressing me with a slight frown. “I have another matter to discuss with you both. Our scouts have returned from the Emerald Graves, and… I have news on Samson.”

Galvanized by her words, I sat up straight in my chair, my headache forgotten. “About time.”

* * *

My duties kept me busy over the next few days, and although my thoughts stubbornly reminded me of my less than courteous first meeting with Selkie, I didn’t have much time to dwell on it. With the new information brought in by Leliana’s scouts, Alec and I mapped out possible smuggling routes for Samson’s steady red lyrium supply.

The Inquisitor would depart to the Emerald Graves in a week’s time to investigate the lands and broaden the Inquisition’s reach. I wanted to tell him about my own decision concerning lyrium before he left Skyhold again. The duration of his assignments could range from a few days to several weeks, and it was never possible to know how long he would be gone.

I needed to be honest with him, but… at the same time I dreaded his disappointment. My inner turmoil worsened my headaches and shortened the hours of rest I found at night. Which in turn shortened my temper with the men, a conduct I kept berating myself for.

But even during these busy days following Lady Selkie’s adventurous arrival at Skyhold, I noticed that I didn’t see her around the keep. At first, I didn’t think much of it. After what she’d been through, it was only natural to need some quiet time for mourning and healing. She must have lost people who’d been dear to her. Leliana confirmed that her scouts couldn’t find evidence of survivors, but it was just as possible that they had been taken prisoner by the Venatori. Maybe going down with the ship would be the more merciful fate.

When I continued seeing no sign of Selkie for a whole week, I began to feel a bit apprehensive. Only half-conscious of what I did, I started walking by Herald’s Rest on my way to troop inspections or war council meetings, stopping for a few moments to scan the windows on the first floor. It wasn’t as if I made any detours… Only a short walk, after all. A bit of fresh air.

I knew Selkie occupied the second corner room of the tavern, the other being permanently besieged by Sera. The eccentric elven archer kept her windows open – much to everyone’s aggravation on days when she decided to butcher the fine art of lute-playing. The colourful stained glass on Selkie’s side stayed shut, though.

_This really isn’t your business_, I rebuked myself during one of these sojourns. Yet I had to admit to myself that I felt a little ashamed by my initial flintiness towards her, and… I worried that my intimidating behaviour had driven her into self-imposed isolation.

After a week or so, this notion had begun to afflict my conscience enough to spur me into action. I had just finished a very long and arduous meeting with my captains and found myself once again meandering close to the tavern. I was a moment short of giving in to the nagging impulse and stepping through the doors –

“Commander!” Josephine’s cheerful greeting startled me so much I nearly jumped, feeling suspiciously as though I’d been caught in the middle of some furtive activity. I turned to face our ambassador, noting the pile of neatly folded clothes in her arms. A few books and rolls of parchment had been placed on top, and she seemed to have a difficult time balancing all of it without dropping anything.

“This is what I call providential interposition! Be a dear and assist me with carrying these.”

And then she started piling her burdens onto my unresisting person while I still mulled over her tongue-twisting words. Until all she still held were a pair of books and a brittle-looking vellum of the kind artists used for their sketches.

“Lady Ambassador… Surely you have assistants who –“, I hedged, but halted as I examined the pile of fabric, realizing with some trepidation that these were women’s clothes. A subtle scent of lavender and peppermint curled up my nose, sending an odd sliver of awareness down my spine. They’d been freshly laundered, and judging by the needlework they were brand new, never worn before.

“Yes, well. I do, but this errand is a bit special. Our new guest has some difficulties settling in here, and I wished to speak to her personally.”, Josephine explained, waving me through the tavern door briskly. I felt like a glorified errand boy, but had long learned never to engage in a verbal sword-crossing with Lady Montilyet. Only a fool would. Hadn’t I wanted to look in on Selkie anyway? Why did my armour feel too tight all of a sudden? I shifted awkwardly as we climbed the stairs, craning my neck to alleviate the discomfort. It didn’t help.

“Furthermore”, the ambassador chirped on, “Lady Selkie is not fond of crowds, so one person at a time is more favourable. I have been filled in by Leliana and A – a worried Lord Trevelyan about her story. My brother swore he saw the Tidedancer once. In the distance. He said she flew across the waves like the mythical water horse itself. The ship has a bit of a reputation. Dashing Captain Cornwall and his band of good-hearted pirates! Surely I’m romanticising, but still…”

I let her talk but filed her words away carefully for later consideration. We came to the door on the first floor I knew to be Selkie’s, and I endeavoured to take a deep breath that ended up being a much too shallow one.

Josephine knocked on the door with all the refinement of a princess. No answer came whatsoever. She repeated the ritualistic knocking several times, then tried by announcing herself, all to no avail. We stood there for a time, a bit at a loss what to do. Both of us jolted when the door at the other end opened with a bang and Sera’s flaxen head appeared quite suddenly. She peered at us with her nose crinkled as if she’d smelled something decidedly unpleasant.

“Hey Bigshots! Looking for Mutey, yeah?”, Sera said lightly, stepping out into the hallway. Josephine looked scandalized.

“Sera! That is not a nice name to –“ But the elf waved her off.

“Pfft. I know, right? But it’s the only time she laughs, when I call her that, innit? So I do. Least her sense of humour didn’t go belly-up like that ship. Not all of it.”

“Still, it seems a tad disrespectful…”, I weighed in slowly, although I didn’t put any edge in my voice.

“Ugh, always so serious, this one. All hair and no woman to grab him by it. Let me handle the jokes, Ser Fancy-britches. You should get rid of that rigid pole…”

It took a second for her meaning to sink in. Blindsided by the sly comment, I choked on my next words and started spluttering nonsensical things. From the corner of my eye, I saw Josephine cover her mouth with one hand, her shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.

“… Up your spine. Heh, your face! So worth it. Josie knows what I’m talking about, right?”, Sera sang innocently. The ambassador coughed and pretended great interest in a portrait hanging on the wall. I felt heat climb my neck, vaguely wondering if I had ever been more mortified.

“Anyway, Mutey’s not in her room. Guess she’s in the stables. Likes the horses. Not so many of those on ships, yeah? Maybe there should be more. Horseback pirates! No, wait. Can horses even swim? Shite, that’s a tough one.”

I opened my mouth with no idea what would come out (except perhaps that yes, horses could swim), but Josephine quickly pushed me through the unlocked door into Selkie’s quarters. It felt intrusive to enter without permission, but neither did I want to keep standing there for Sera to fabricate any more horrifying insinuations about me. I looked around while Josephine relieved me of the items I held and arranged them carefully on the bedspread. The sheets were a bit rumpled, and a very faint fragrance hung in the air. Something exotic… spicy and breezy at the same time. Inexplicable, soft – and entirely feminine.

“We shouldn’t be in here.”, I said just for the sake of distracting myself, because my breaths had unconsciously deepened, betraying the simple enjoyment I felt. Despite all the jokes Sera and Varric made about my ‘puritan existence’, I liked the scent of a woman’s skin as much as the next man. Which made me feel like a veritable lecher right now, sniffing around private sanctuaries.

It was just a physical reaction. I could ignore it. I _should_. 

“Do not worry, we are just dropping these new clothes off for her. We won’t rummage through her drawers. But I have to say… It doesn’t look like anyone actually lives here. Don’t you think?”, Josephine mused, glancing around the room. I did the same.

It was pleasant enough, bright and airy, panelled with tall, multi-hued windows which allowed abundant sun-beams to fall in, painting colourful sceneries onto the wooden floor. Very few keep residents – aside from the Inquisitor, perhaps – could call so much light their own.

But Josephine’s observation proved true: I saw none of the little sentimental alterations people made to feel more at home in a place. No personal affects littering the surfaces. No discarded clothes draped over chair-backs. The furniture seemed untouched, and had there not been a few subtle signs of occupation, I would have sworn that nobody lived here. The implications of this troubled me.

“She came here with nothing but the clothes on her back.”, I remarked to Josephine, but it felt more like a reminder for me. We knew so little about this woman who had no voice to tell us why the Venatori hunted her.

She might hate that she’d been brought here, like a prisoner. It was a possibility which rarely occurred to us, as the proclaimed protectors of those in need, the problem-solvers. We just assumed people _wanted_ to be protected. I contemplated glumly if we might be wrong, in this case.

“Let’s go find her, shall we?”, Josephine said, done with her arrangements. She still held the vellum scroll in one hand as we left the room. Apparently this was an item she wished to give Selkie personally.

I might never quite figure out the reasons behind my decision to follow her. A mounting pile of unanswered letters waited for me. My presence was not required, for sure. I could have returned to my work, my duties, the everyday routine I’d so perfected. But follow her, I did.


	5. V. Second Chances

### V. Second Chances

_The Vanguard_

* * *

Skyhold’s stables prided themselves of housing some of the best-trained, finest horseflesh this side of the Waking Sea. Stablemaster Dennet kept the impressive building meticulously clean at all times, just as he went through almost obsessive lengths to ensure perfection in his entire stock.

Every horse he and his six grooms trained here was of magnificent build, well-behaved and remarkably tenacious – whether we used them for hunting or battle, it didn’t matter. The keep had become our home only two months ago, but the stables had been rebuilt with an alarming speed, and outfitted with the best equipment.

“I see where all our money went.”, murmured Josephine as we stepped into Dennet’s domain through the wide entry.

The large, two-storey barn opened into the actual mews on the eastern side, giving the horses a few hours of sun every day. Fresh straw covered the floor, bundles of it lining the robust wooden walls. Row after row of tack – bridles, saddles, blankets – occupied much of the available space, all of it tidy and organized for swift access.

The scent of horses, hay and oiled leather reminded me of my boyhood years, when I had still lived on the family farm. Driving home on our cart with my father after market-day, the sun setting beyond the golden wheat fields. Memories of a careless time. Maker, I’d been young once. On some days, I felt as old as time.

“You sigh more often than usually today, Cullen.”

Josephine threw me a sideways glance, before looking around the barn as if she’d never seen it before. Come to think of it, did she own a horse? I didn’t even know if she could ride. I couldn’t quite picture her galopping freely across the countryside, she was always so poised. Somewhere above us, Warden Blackwall hummed to himself, his deep timbre accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a wood plane. A pair of grooms went about their business, whistling along every now and then.

“It’s nothing.”, I placated, remembering Josephine’s remark. It was impossible not to relish the working atmosphere in the stables. Such a clean simplicity, soothing.

Dennet’s gritty voice came from the mews, slightly muffled. “I swear, he was born completely white! Not a spot on him! They come much later.”

I rounded the corner with Josephine and found Selkie leaned over the stall gate of a handsome piebald gelding. With an intent look on her face, she observed the stablemaster as he brushed down the horse after training. They hadn’t noticed us yet.

Selkie shook her head resolutely, which made her raven hair fly around her face in a haphazard fashion. The clothes she wore were clearly borrowed, the tunic hanging a bit too loosely on her slender frame, the breeches ruffled above her snug leather boots. Still, seeing her made me stand a bit straighter, and I was unnervingly aware of my body all of a sudden.

“You don’t believe me? Right, you are some pirate princess, I heard. Superstitious sea-dogs have a myth for everything.”, Dennet griped. “How’s this: Whenever a black stallion and a white mare couple beneath the full moon, their union will birth a piebald horse. That sound believable?”

Laughter flashed in Selkie’s eyes, there and gone in a moment. Then she pointed at Dennet and made a rude sort of sound I won’t elaborate further.

“_I’m_ full of shit? Says the woman who has never sat a horse in her life! How’s that even possible? You need to learn, lass.”

The woman in question gave a one-sided shrug, and I had a distinct impression that she was fighting a smile. She caught sight of us then and startled. I didn’t miss the way her whole stance tensed up when she saw me, while Josephine’s presence seemed to merely puzzle her. Any trace of amusement vanished from her face, replaced by wariness. Maker knew why, but that reaction irked me.

“Commander! And the Lady Ambassador, too. Good day to you both.”, Dennet called from the stall when he noticed us.

“Lady Selkie, it is nice to finally meet you.”, Josephine began, executing a flawless curtsy. I followed her example and bowed to our guest, maybe a bit more deeply than strictly required.

“My lady.”, I greeted her. Selkie looked disconcerted, to say the least. I doubted her up-bringing had involved the study of polite greetings or the use of courtesy titles. Her gaze touched mine for the briefest of moments, then skittered sideways as she brought her attention to Josephine. With her right hand held out before her, she made a complicated little gesture, then swept her arm behind her back and bowed. Josephine fairly squealed beside me.

“That was the Antivan mariner’s greeting! Oh, I haven’t seen it done so well in _forever_. You recognized my origins?”

Selkie nodded enthusiastically.

“You must have so many stories to tell. I didn’t wish to disturb you, but we haven’t had a chance to talk since you have arrived. We would like you to feel welcome here, and safe from the dangers you endured. So, I left a few items in your residence, including some books and new clothes.”, Josephine continued seamlessly, her expression open and friendly.

I think I once heard Alec say that not even the surliest cutpurse would stand a chance against Josephine when she embarked on a crusade of kindness. Selkie was not immune to her charm, either, looking momentarily flustered. Bowing again, she held a hand to her chest in an unmistakable sign of gratitude. I struggled not to let my eyes wander anywhere they shouldn’t, especially not below her throat. It was nearly impossible, because despite her slight stature, the Maker had blessed her generously in… other places.

_Wrong thoughts. Stop thinking those thoughts. Transfigurations. Think of Transfigurations instead. Magic exists to serve man, and… _

“Oh, it was no matter, I assure you. But the most important thing –“ The ambassador brandished the scroll in her hand and began untying the velvet cord around it. “- Is this. Look.” Selkie stepped beside her as Josephine unrolled the scroll. Having me at her back seemed to unnerve her, since she threw me a guarded glance over her shoulder. I gave her a bit more space, but stayed close enough to see the contents of the scroll Josephine was so partial to. Unfortunately, this still afforded me a lungful of that same exotic scent from the tavern room, only rather more intense. And that fragrance did not belong to Josephine. I swallowed, wondering how the inside of my mouth could feel both dryer and moister than it should.

After a moment of woolgathering, I forced my attention back to the scroll. It was an instruction manual of sorts. For every letter of our common script, there was a corresponding hand gesture drawn below. Sign language. I had heard of it before, but the instructions were uncommonly hard to find.

“See here? You can learn to speak with your hands this way. Antivan scholars developed it after a strange illness had left many people without their hearing. It would take some time, of course, and simply learning the letters is only a fraction of the whole. The sign language communicates, not so much through words, but rather concepts, symbols, facial expression and many other subtle nuances. I can teach you, if you wish. But ultimately, you will add your own personal touch to it.”

Selkie lifted her head to give Josephine a direct look, but after a moment her face crumpled into something I mistook for dismay at first. She cast her gaze around the mews, her hand moving as though she held an invisible quill.

“I think she wants to say something.“, I hazarded quietly.

“Goodness, of course!” Josephine stunned us both by drawing a tiny bundle from the folds of her robe and unwrapping it to reveal a writing kit complete with a small pen, ink and several neat pieces of parchment. There was even a miniature wax seal. I gaped.

“You just carry these things around with you?” She gave me a disparaging kind of look.

“One never knows when something might need to be committed to writing. I could whip up an official treaty with this. Or a patent of nobility.”, she sniffed and bestowed a much kinder smile on Selkie, handing her the kit, which she used to write the following:

_“Thank you, Lady”_ – she stopped, uncertain.

“Just Josephine. Or Josie, for abbreviation.”

_“Lady Josephine. I appreciate your kindness very much_.” Selkie paused again, and I knew at once from the way her shoulders drooped that the next word she would write would be ‘but’.

_“But I don’t wish to cause more problems. I do not belong here. I am not one of you.”_

One of us? As in ‘Inquisition’? As in ‘land-dwellers’? As in ‘people’ in general? The expression of abject surrender on her face was difficult to bear. I felt sympathy for this woman who seemed to elude any classification I tried to fit her into. Mage? Pirate? Threat or victim? Or perhaps just… a person who had lost everything she’d held dear in a single strike.

“I can assure you that is not true, my lady. The Inquisition welcomes anyone who –“, but Josephine’s words were interrupted by one of her couriers dashing into our midst as though the void itself nipped at his heels.

“Ambassador. The Duke of Moncrieffe has just declared his intention to duel the Marquis de Rhue. They haven’t met each other in ten years, since the last incident –“, the young man huffed, clutching a stich in his side.

“Sweet Andraste’s mercy! The Duke was scheduled to arrive _after_ the Marquis has left! Oh, dash it all! Cullen, time for your first lesson in conciliation. Make her understand. I have a diplomatic incident to avoid.”

And with that she was off, leaving me standing there like a bumbling idiot. Selkie let out a sigh and placed the writing tools back inside the pouch. My attention was drawn to the way she tied the velour leather bands into an intricate knot while still holding the scroll, too. As though weaving a tiny little tapestry. The movement of her fingers was both delicate and strangely practical, if such a blend was possible.

Noticing my scrutiny, she glanced at me, and a faint wash of colour swept over her cheeks. I cleared my throat and readied a nonsensical remark about hearing Josephine curse for the first time in known history, but before I could, Selkie bowed hastily and brushed past me. For a minute I just stood there, staring at her retreating form.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” This scolding was delivered by Dennet, in the strict manner of a general chastising some green recruit. The irony of it was not lost on me. “Lass is grieving. Isn’t this what Inquisition does, picking up strays left and right until we have one of everything? Why not a pirate princess?”

“I don’t know that she was a pirate _princess, _Master Dennet.”

“Sure looks like one, doesn’t she?”

I neither confirmed nor denied this as I said my farewells to him and left the stables in pursuit of Selkie. If this “princess” wanted to be rescued at all, I was quite sure I had already disqualified myself. Why was I even doing this? How had it started? Right, with Josephine. Whose special brand of torture apparently wasn’t just her lecturing me about my ‘public conduct’, but also throwing me into awkward situations.

I found Selkie up on the battlements. She stood at the balustrade, gazing out over the mighty peaks of the Frostback Mountains. The scenery was so familiar to me by now, I wondered how it must look to someone who saw it for the first time.

I approached her cautiously. Her winged brows rose in surprise when she realized I had followed her. Maybe it was best to speak my mind frankly. I had never been good at handling sensitive issues. I didn’t have Alec’s talent to put people at ease, or Josephine’s diplomatic prowess, or Leliana’s subtlety.

“Forgive me if I made you feel unwelcome here when you arrived. As I said back then, I needed to ensure everyone’s safety, including yours. You are not a prisoner here, or an outcast, so –“

She suddenly held up a hand, effectively silencing me with that one gesture. After a shaking her head no, she met my eyes directly and gave me a small, rather sad smile. I didn’t know how, but I wordlessly understood that she held no grudge, and I was forgiven.

In broad daylight, I could see the errant streaks of sable in her raven hair. Her eyes were tip-tilted, giving her face an almost feline semblance. And they were impossibly blue, dazzling. A delicate pattern of freckles was strewn across the bridge of her nose, fanned out to the gentle arc of her cheeks. Like a whimsical present left behind by a benevolent spirit. My gaze was drawn to her lips, bow-shaped and coral pink and… distracting. Dangerously distracting. I shifted my weight, as if the movement would keep my thoughts in order, but it only made me feel large and unwieldy.

Selkie was fairly short – standing straight, the top of her head barely reached as far as my shoulders. She had to crane her neck a bit, which exposed the pale column of her throat. Soft. Delicate. I should _not_ be looking at that. I should not be thinking about it, either. The shortening list of innocuous places to direct my attention worried me.

Maker, why do you put me into such dire straits? Fortunately I was saved when Selkie dropped her gaze, breaking the intense moment. She unrolled the sign language scroll and, after a moment, traced three letters with her forefinger.

S – E – A

I implicitly understood her meaning.

“The sea? It’s right…”, I directed her to the northern side of the ramparts and pointed towards the distant valley beyond the mountains. “There. On a clear day, when weather is kind, you can see it in the distance. We have spyglasses our scouts do not use. I’m sure you can borrow one.”

Selkie bobbed her head, looking a good deal more animated at the idea than before.

“You should take Josephine up on her offer. Things will be much easier if you have a means to communicate without having to use tools. It will help you to settle in here at Skyhold.” It should have felt strange to talk ‘at’ a person without ever getting a spoken response, but it really didn’t. Maker knew why. Except for the irony of me being the talkative one in a conversation.

“I know being here has not exactly been your choice. The Inquisitor can be a bit… spontaneous that way. But the Venatori are a serious enemy. And they came for you in force. Here you are out of their reach, while we get behind their sinister plans. We’ll find out why they tried to capture you.”

She sighed with a brief look at me and traced another three-letter word on the cipher.

Q – A – I

“Qai…? I’m sorry, I am not familiar with that word.”, I admitted.

Selkie touched index finger and thumb of her right hand together above her heart, then made a drawing motion as if pulling a string from her chest. Her hand opened, and a bit of melted snow swirled in a tiny circle on her palm, summoned by her magic. Unwittingly, she had created her first own sign. It would become the one she’d use whenever describing the complex idea of ‘qai’ – a combination between the concepts of ‘heart’ and ‘magic’.

I didn’t understand it back then, but I did know that she was, as Solas had pointed out, a different kind of mage. Even without lyrium, I still faintly sensed magical patterns, and I suspected I always would. The design of her magic was balanced, guileless. Sensible. It harboured no aggression. Alec was right. She had not been trained to do violence. The notion that such a thing existed was strangely… comforting.

I could discern these arcane subtleties, although not as well as I used to. The year-long imbibement of lyrium gives templars their unique abilities, and we do lose most of them when we stop. But it also alters us in some irrevocable way. A difficult thing to explain – but a Knight-Captain said this to me once:

“_We are connected to some great unfathomable construct. It makes our voices attune to the song that holds the world in place, and we think it is the Maker’s Lament, but… I wonder what toll that connection takes on our souls. I feel disconnected from myself at times, as if what makes me me is slowly being absorbed into something too vast for me to understand. I only know that it frightens me_.”

I still heard an echo of the song, humming at the back of my mind like the rush of a river that flows on and on, never leaving me in peace. Near inaudible on some days, and on others it was so loud and distracting I could barely hear my own thoughts. I wished it would stop beckoning me back with that irresistible allure. Blocking it consciously was so exhausting. Listening to it both elated and terrified me. When had there ever been a time of blessed silence in my world? Was I a madman for wanting to be free of those chains?

The brooding timbre of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because Selkie surveyed me with a curious look.

_“I wonder what she sees in you, Commander_.” Solas’ strange comment had made no sense to me, but now I had to wonder – if she could sense the Anchor on Alec, how much more did she see? I felt transparent beneath her intent regard, and more than a bit unsettled. Her sapphire eyes seemed to look right through me.

But then her gaze released me and Selkie made the same little thank you gesture she had made to Josephine, bowing abruptly. I knew myself to be dismissed. This time, I was almost relieved to leave her company. Almost, but not quite.

* * *

I was always alone in the end, the last, the only one left. My heart still beating while all the others had fallen silent. My lungs still drawing breath while the others had died screaming. I could hear it echoing around the chamber like banshee wails, their final moments of agony, and I screamed in unison, shouted until my throat was raw, hoping beyond sanity that I might scream the life out of my body and be dead with them.

But I always survived. Or rather _something_ survived, a person I did not recognize, a crazed, broken shell of a man. The worst thing about torture is not the pain inflicted to your body. Pain is physical. Mundane. It can be endured, blocked out, separated from the mind. I had been taught to endure pain. What breaks you is being stripped of all dignity, all defences. Until you are exposed, your most private thoughts laid bare. And then he comes, taking a knife to the very fabric of your soul, tearing it open wide –

“Cullen.” I awakened from the nightmare with a violent jolt. My body reacted on mere instinct, my hands grabbing hold of my tormentor with a crushing strength born from fear and rage. _Kill it! Kill it for what it has done! The demon, the monster, the torturer –_

“Shit! Cullen – it’s me!” Not Uldred. A different voice. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head to clear the crimson haze, the horrible after-images dancing across my lids. I’m not at Kinloch. I’m not dying. Uldred is not rummaging around in my head. The other place is not real. This is real, now.

I opened my eyes and looked at the Inquisitor’s familiar face. His expression was one of forced stillness people employ when trying to calm a skittish horse that might kick out at the first sign of movement. But I felt not a drop of magic from him, not even the wisp of a spell to defend himself. And that trust was what truly brought me back this time.

Very carefully, I pulled my hands away from his throat, releasing his collar and inhaling as much air as my lungs would hold. I stepped away from him, slumping down into my chair. I’d fallen asleep over my work again, for the third time this week. Scraping a palm over my face, I exhaled in a rush.

“Alec… Forgive me. I –“ I paused, gathering my wits. It was difficult to concentrate at all, with the nightmare still digging its claws into me. So vivid… “Bad dreams. I get them a lot. I didn’t mean to…”

“That was no mere bad dream.”, Alec said, his voice grave. “You looked at me with murder in your eyes.”

“My nightmares are different from yours, I suspect… Too real, too… intense. I wanted to wait until tomorrow to tell you, but now is as good a time as any, seeing as I all but assaulted you. I owe you an explanation.”

Alec gave me a deadpan look, then sighed and moved to speak, but I forestalled him.

“Please don’t say that it’s alright. It is not alright. When I relive the horrors of my past this way, I am a menace to everyone around me. I usually lock the door when I feel such episodes coming, or keep to myself on the days when it’s all… too much.”

He surveyed me for a moment, pulling his collar into order surreptitiously.

“Shouldn’t the lyrium help with that? The nightmares, the memories.”

“That… is the matter I wanted to discuss with you before you leave for the Graves.” I rested a hand on the wooden box containing the philtres provided for my use. “I… no longer take it. In fact, I stopped taking lyrium when we were still at Haven.”

A few seconds passed in which the Inquisitor didn’t even blink. Then he moved quite suddenly to the little cabinet between my shelves and opened it, taking out two cups and a bottle of amber liquid. Brandy? How had it gotten there? How had he known? Placing the cups on my desk, he poured a generous amount for both of us, sitting down across me. I held the cup in my hand, throwing him a sceptical glance.

“You know I don’t drink.”, I remarked.

“Today, you do. When you drop an issue that size on a friend, you owe him a drink. Maker’s balls, Cullen. This could kill you! Tell me, why?” I leaned back, watching the golden liquid swirl and gleam in the light of the candelabra.

“When I joined the Order, I dedicated myself to a life of service.” I began. “During that service, I went through experiences I would not wish upon my worst enemy.”

“Kinloch Hold. The Ferelden Circle incident.”, Alec said. Seeing my astonished expression, he explained. “It was in Leliana’s dossier about you. Few details, just that you were the only templar in the upper tower who survived, and abominations were involved. But it was enough for me to understand that whatever happened there has changed you.”

“For a long time after it, I despised mages.”, I confessed, avoiding his gaze, too ashamed of myself. “I wanted them all locked up. It sickens me to think about it now. I’m glad we didn’t meet back then. I was… not a good man. In Kirkwall, things were different, but not for the better. My Knight-Commander… Her conduct towards mages, her madness. I learned a very different lesson there. Disappointment after disappointment, curing me of the youthful delusion that the templars were champions of the just. We had buried our issues in shallow graves. They were bound to come back and haunt us.”

I fell silent, chancing a peek at Alec. He was looking at me attentively, with no trace of chagrin in his eyes. If someone had told me years ago that one of the truest friends I’d have in life would be a mage, I would have called them wrong in the head. He waited patiently for me to continue. I took a sip of brandy.

“Then the rebellion came. I tried to salvage things. I tried to change the great institution I wanted so desperately to still believe in. But I think deep down, I had lost my faith in it all. Our entire system had become a castle built on shaky foundations. A house of cards. And it did all come tumbling down around our heads, didn’t it?”

“So you joined the Inquisition. You must have still had hope.” Alec said quietly. I nodded.

“So I did. And I had. But my life in the Order… was over. _Is_ over. It ended when they decided to go to war, and with that they made every vow we have taken to protect the innocent ring hollow. The lyrium… is a chain that keeps me bound to that life. It feels like a curse now, a malediction. I must break free from it, Alec. It’s the only way for me to learn who I am, outside of the Order’s boundaries. Free.”

The Inquisitor kept his silence for a long minute. Having spent most of his life near templars as a Circle mage, he did have a good grasp on the possible dangers of my decision. But when he spoke, the words were not what I had expected.

“I support your decision. I really do, no argument. Void, Cullen. If you pull this off, you deserve a damn medal. Or we could give you a title. How about ‘Ser Rutherford of the Steel Balls’? Has a nice ring to it.” I goggled at him.

“Are you sure you are a nobleman? You have the face of one, but what comes out of your mouth sometimes rivals any hardened sailor’s cussing.”, I needled him, unable to resist. He snorted dismissively.

“This is nothing. Just ask Selkie. I bet she was sung to sleep with the kind of sea shanties that would make your ears burn.”, Alec chuckled, his words making me lose my train of thought momentarily.

“But to stay on topic… I am glad that you want to reclaim your life. Just one thing… Take care of yourself, alright? When things get difficult, if you need help…. Reach out to people. Me or Cassandra or whoever you wish, but don’t go through this on your own. Believe me, if I didn’t have…”, he stopped for an instant as though rearranging his thoughts. I had the impression that he’d been about to reveal something very private. “If I didn’t have friends to fall back on, to share the burden with, I would have cracked like a nut beneath the pressure long ago.”

“Thank you, Alec.”, I said feelingly. “It means something, that you and I can sit here and have this conversation with no distrust tainting it. A former templar and a former Circle mage.” He gave me a lop-sided smile.

“Look, I never disliked templars on principle. My Circle was an example that things _could_ work, while what happened at Kirkwall should be made into a cautionary tale of the exact opposite. I understand where both sides are coming from, I do. I also get that this has been festering inside people for so long, we should have known it would explode into our faces. But in the end, we are all human. In what we face now, there is no room for grudges. We need to move forward, now borrow trouble from the past.”

“That outlook of yours is the reason you command this Inquisition.”, I told him earnestly.

“I _lead us”, _he corrected pointedly, although even that word didn’t seem to sit right with him_._ “because apparently, these three advisors of mine thought it was a good idea. Maker only knows what they were thinking. They must have been drunk.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but a moment later, he turned quite serious.

“You are a free man here, Cullen Rutherford. You can walk away from this any time. I would prefer that you don’t. But you _can_. You always have a choice.” I knew. Still, I appreciated the reassurance.

“And leave you to Josephine’s and Leliana’s mercy? You wouldn’t last a week!” I laughed when he made a face.

“I like Josie. Leliana is the scary one. The things that woman knows…”, he murmured, but I did not miss the fact that he had said ‘Josie’ instead of ‘Josephine’. He seemed to notice his involuntary slip in decorum, because he changed the subject quite abruptly.

“Did you send the soldiers to Denerim for King Alistair’s request? I hope to have those Venatori spies ferreted out before we are too caught up in the preparations for Halamshiral.”, Alec asked, draining the last of his brandy. 

“Yes, just yesterday. It will take a week for them to travel the distance, though. They have been properly briefed. I am confident in their success.”, I answered with a nod.

“Having a king owe you a favor should come in handy.”, the Inquisitor mused, gazing at the brandy bottle approvingly. “This is good brandy. Thank you for sharing a drink with me. Which, by the way, just made me win a bet I had with Sera. She secretly placed the bottle there and bet me twenty silver that it would stay full until the end of time.” I treated him to my best glare then. Yes, that sounded exactly like something Sera would do.

“That girl’s mind is a bag of cats… She seems bent on painting me as a rigid dullard who can’t tell a joke from a hole in the ground. It’s insulting.”, I grumbled sullenly. Alec made a noncommittal noise, but I had the distinct hunch that he was hiding a smile.

“She’s just pulling your leg, Cullen. Everyone is so serious all the time. She’s trying to make people have a little fun. Which reminds me of one last thing before I leave.” He stood, smoothing a hand over his smartly tailored tunic and doeskin waistcoat.

“Many residents expressed the wish to hold a Satinalia celebration, since it’s that time of the year soon. I agreed to it, because I think we all need a bit of holiday spirit. It will be held when I return from the Graves, so… get ready for apple bobbing and ginger bread and – Andraste help us – Varric’s rendition of ‘Deck the halls’ after ten tankards of eggnog. Yes, _tankards_. Josephine was so excited when I agreed, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She will make us go through _all_ the customs. Your attendance is required, of course.” He paused shortly, rubbing his smooth chin.

“Actually, I think I will use this moment to issue an official order. The Inquisitor demands your presence, Commander. No excuses.” His mouth twisted like he’d tasted something foul. “That felt wrong.”

I swallowed, resigning myself to my fate – not without reluctance. I had never been big on celebrations or any kind of revelry. Templars did not throw parties, and that didn’t count the fact of me being anything but sophisticated society material.

“I suppose it will bolster morale to have such a celebration. If we must.”, I ventured guardedly. When Alec was almost out the door, he turned to me once again and scanned me with a critical kind of look.

“You should see the tailor. All the dances will be a Lady’s Choice. I can’t imagine that armour of yours making it through a reel without pinching a nerve somewhere. Yours, or your partner’s.”

At this point I blanched, staring at him incredulously.

“What makes you so certain I will be asked to dance at all? I don’t dance.” Alec regarded me thoroughly for a moment, then shook his head as though he found me very tedious.

I received no direct answer from him, but as he left the room, I was sure I heard him say something under his breath that involved the words “ignorance” and “bliss”. I remained sitting at my desk in the empty study, wondering what on earth I had just agreed to. Or been ordered to do. I wasn’t sure which. 


	6. VI. Water Finds A Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for the kudos as always <3  
This chapter happens in parallel to the previous ones from Cullen's POV, and shows how Selkie deals with things in her time after the arrival at Skyhold. As I said, it takes some time for the story to get going, but I like building my characters into something genuine. Have fun in any case!

### VI. Water Finds a Way

_The Weaver_

* * *

Grief puts a terrible weight on the heart. Once its full force strikes, it seeps into every part of you, filling you until you are a cup running over. Nothing really matters. Thoughts ring hollow. Food has no real taste. Even rising from bed each morning is just an ordeal on its own. One day bleeds into the next while you reach for things drifting farther and farther away with each passing minute. And it hurts. A phantom pain, right where a part of you has been chopped off, leaving behind a tingling numbness and an empty space nothing can move into.

Sometimes, you are granted a short reprieve, because the mind cannot mourn at all times. It gets exhausted, fleeing into sleep or menial tasks. But the knowledge pounces on you again, sooner or later. Through reminders of what you lost, tiny, seemingly inconsequential things. The flutter of the banners planted in the courtyard, on the walls. They were so reminiscent of sails in the wind. That one soldier always patrolling the ramparts at midday, holding himself with the same pragmatic discipline as Father had. The gentle sway of the aspen tree’s crown, its gold and yellow leaves alight with the sun’s warmth. Ariu would have loved it.

For all accounts and purposes, my fathers were dead, swallowed by the depths. Together with the entire crew of the Tidedancer. Some of them, I had rarely spoken to. Others, I had known for years, like Old Sam, who had been a friend of my father’s from childhood. A Kirkwall dockworker, burly as a bull and with a bushy moustache that could harbour a flock of birds and still have room for more. And Kitten… My only friend. A woman full of stories and grit, who made sea rations taste like delicacies from a king’s platter, and never took crap from anyone for being the only female on board – besides me, and I hadn’t really counted.

I’d been the captain’s daughter, the one who weaved the tides in order to steer us towards treasure caves and secret hidey-holes for ancient artefacts. I was either avoided – by the most superstitious ones, mostly – or treated with the utmost respect. We didn’t raid or pillage from helpless people. We never boarded merchant vessels to cut down the crew and take their booty.

But I suppose we were no saints either. We did take from other pirates, or punish those who were rumoured to be excessively cruel and violent. And whenever a ship with Kirkwall’s knot flag appeared, my father hunted it down. He’d been a bit obsessed that way. But I had never been involved in any fighting, killing, or even the landing parties during a treasure hunt.

My fathers had always been very protective of me. It was only logical, at least for Matthias, to make sure he never accidentally lost what gave his ship the greatest edge out on the seas. He hadn’t had a soft, nurturing bone in his body. He was harsh, distant and at times he’d seemed to me like a man hardened by experiences I could only guess at. When little, I used to dog his every step like a scolded puppy, hoping for affection, hoping to be forgiven for whatever I had done to make him not love me.

Our hearts are unreasonable, fickle things. The more walls the people whose love we crave put up, the more stubbornly we batter ourselves against them. Ariu had been the gentle father, the wave flowing around Matthias’ unyielding cliffs. He’d taught me to weave water, written his qai onto my skin to protect me, and sung me to sleep when the storms raged and agitated the sea. If I had been unable to weave during the storm, then Ariu must have been as well. Besides, he’d never been very strong on the physical side of our magic. His area of expertise had been much more spiritual.

Lost… All of it lost. Normally, I could sense his presence very faintly, like the littlest tug on my sleeve to point me in the right direction. It was gone now. All I felt was the echo of him within the pattern he had stung. The wisdom he had left behind in me.

I did not remember a time before my life on the Tidedancer. But sometimes in my nightmares, I could feel fire licking across my skin, the sweltering air burning through my lungs. It frightened me to bits, but I never knew where those dreams came from.

During my first days with the Inquisition, I retreated into myself. I mourned fiercely, until it seemed as though I’d cried myself empty, a river run dry. I didn’t know how it happened, but one morning I woke and I just… stopped. Stopped letting the pain drag me under without resistance, stopped it from choking the life in me.

I lay on the soft mattress and watched the sunlight stream in through the stained glass, the shards of colour it painted onto my sheets. I felt the qai of people moving around the keep, going about their business. The stones whispered on and on, as they had for a thousand years or more. The world had not ended together with my old life. I had not gone down with the ship. I was still here. In hindsight, this moment was the point when I realized that life goes on, or at least must make an attempt to do so. Matthias would have scolded me for not being stronger than this. Ariu would have told me that I _was_ stronger. And so I rose, and spent an entire day at Skyhold without weeping.

Things are not as easy as all that, though. Grief does not vanish because you wish it to be gone. But it made a bit more room within me for other feelings to come in, becoming a tiny bit smaller with each day, like a wound closing. With time, it might heal enough to become a faded scar. But I had no illusions that it wouldn’t hurt every now and then, pulling tight to serve as a reminder that once, things had been whole there.

How does one start anew? Cluelessly, that’s how. I had never lived on anything but the deck of a ship for any length of time. One might think that therefore, I was used to the close quarters of hulls, to people crammed into a construction with limited space. But the Tidedancer had been a large frigate-class vessel, and the crew relatively small.

My place had usually been up on the masts, in the crow’s nest, or sitting on the figurehead, or running the deck. I had slept alone in my cabin every night, except during storms as a child. I’d had the freedom of going anywhere I wanted on the ship, but my special position within the crew had always set me apart from the others. Somewhat of a loner. Which made me ill-equipped for the task of integrating myself into this situation I’d landed in.

The keep fairly bustled with activity, every day, from sunup to sundown. Watchful sentries patrolled the ramparts during the night. Merchants and errand boys and couriers walked the courtyard. People drank, ate, laughed. I even heard a brawl or two taking place in the tavern below me. Once, I caught someone torturing a lute through the walls of my chamber.

On the morning when I found my will to weather this storm, I dressed in borrowed clothes and paced around the room restlessly. I’d been left alone since I’d arrived, and therefore had not seen another face for days, except the maid who brought me meals from the kitchen and tended to the room. It was strange to have someone do these things for me, but I couldn’t say I minded. The notion of stoking a fire or having to build one myself had cold sweat breaking out on my nape.

The thought of just… going out there and mingling with the hurry-scurry crowd was daunting. Besides, I could not speak. What would they think, seeing the newly arrived ‘odd woman out’ slink around silently among them? I didn’t belong here. I didn’t even know where the sea was, and felt wretchedly lonely without its comforting motion beneath my feet.

The ground here was solid, immutable somehow, wedged between giant mountains on all sides. I had never felt so far from home, and still… here I was, a quarry hunted by the Tevinter mages Alec had called ‘Venatori’. I had enough sense to know that I wouldn’t survive out there in the open world on my own, not with a target on my back. The Inquisition had taken me in, for now. I had to make something of it. Adapt, change.

“Water finds a way.”

I jumped and, hadn’t I been mute, I would have screamed when a young man manifested in the centre of my room from thin air. Even so, the apparition gave me such a fright that I nearly stumbled and landed on my arse. I stared at him. He wore a big, ridiculous hat that almost obscured his face, and even without it I had to wonder how the mop of unruly ashen hair hanging over his eyes did not hinder his vision.

His clothes were frayed and patched in many places, like a peasant boy’s, but what really got to me was his qai. It wasn’t human. A human’s qai is somewhat similar to an iridescent gem, shimmering with different facets depending on the angle in which light touches it. This boy’s aura, though… A single uniform hue to my senses, warm and soft, but so impossibly focused as well. A thing perfected. Beautiful, singular. And utterly foreign.

“Don’t be afraid.”, he said in a gentle wisp of a voice. “I saw you arrive. Lightning strikes, and the hammer falls. His hand on my face, like a farewell he cannot bring himself to say. Has he ever loved me? I make myself forget, but it hurts, it hurts all the time. Water did not listen that day. It betrayed me.”

For the briefest flash of a moment, I remembered it. The seconds before the battleship tore through the Tidedancer, my father’s harsh features distorted by fear and… regret. I shook my head, pushing it away. The boy had read my thoughts. He must have. I only knew one kind of being capable of such things. I’d seen them in dreams, felt them float across the sea as though searching for something, turning curiously to see me weave the tides. Ariu had taught me about them, too.

“I’m Cole. You know! You know what I am!”, he exclaimed almost joyfully. “You can see the colours too. But you can’t read the words.” Inexplicably, I understood what he meant. I nodded.

“You were full of sadness before, and it made you smaller, a locked door with no way inside. You have opened it a bit now. I want to help.”, he said, peering at me with his strange, unblinking eyes.

It made no sense at all, but I didn’t have the same difficulty meeting his gaze as with others. He was a spirit, an aspect of emotion made manifest in the Fade, yet he somehow existed in a physical form as well. Spirits had never frightened me. They belonged to the world like everything else did. Mostly, they ignored me.

Sometimes, when I weaved very strongly or for an extended time, I sensed… other things, the attention of more sinister creatures. Those were the moments when I knew to stop and pull my qai closely around myself. Keeping it balanced. I looked at Cole curiously, wondering what emotion he embodied. He’d said he wanted to help…

“Yes, that’s me. I help people. But how do I help you? Alone, far from home, estranged. Where’s the thread to start weaving again? The others will have questions, not ready for that yet.”

Having my mind read so casually was unnerving, not to mention intrusive, but something about Cole put me at ease. I remembered what Ariu had taught me when I’d seen my first spirit in a dream:

“_The intentions of humans, you will puzzle over all your life. People have too many strings, pulling them in too many directions. Spirits only have one. Remember never to force your qai upon their nature. Do you hear me? Never. If you heed that, you needn’t ever fear them_.”

“He knew much about the other side, your father. He leaves the biggest emptiness when he goes. Warm, huddled in blankets, safe from the storm. A simple comfort from a simpler time. Not ready for people’s many strings, but… ready for comfort. Simpler, as back then. Ah, I know!”

* * *

That was how my visits to the stables started. Cole brought me into Master Dennet’s domain, and I found a small measure of solace there in the warm, hay-fragrant mews, among the soothingly placid presence of the horses. The stablemaster seemed perfectly undisturbed by me observing him at work. He spent his entire day around creatures which don’t talk, and therefore he likely felt more at ease than anybody with conducting one-sided conversations.

The news about my circumstances must have travelled the keep, because he kept occasionally talking to me, allowing me to watch him as he groomed the animals, but he never expected an answer from me. I fed carrots to the horses and tentatively stroked their noses. I just… attuned to my surroundings, letting go of thoughts for a while.

It was, as Cole had predicted, simple. Homely and artless. My mind emptied of all burdens. Even though I had never ridden a horse – which I signalled to Dennet when he asked me at one point – I enjoyed looking at them. They were magnificent creatures, such power in their flanks, such pure straight-forwardness in their life-force. Afterwards, I called for Cole in my mind and thanked him.

“You’re brighter now. But it’s not enough. Will you sing to the water again? I liked it when you did. I live in the attic. I heard you sing about the water to Cullen.”, he said, making me look away as a peculiar, confused shame came over me.

The Commander had left so abruptly after my display, I still wondered if I had done the right thing in showing him my magic. I didn’t know what to make of his demeanour at all. He was a former templar. I knew a lot more about what that meant than I’d let show during our talk. With their inbred suspicion towards all mages, one with an unknown ability must strike deafening alarm bells in his head.

“No, that’s not right.”, Cole interrupted my runaway thoughts. He tilted his head as though listening to something. “She is different. Lovely and puzzling. The ocean moves in her eyes. Why is she hiding?”

Well, now I felt uncomfortable. And awkward. And as though my face had suddenly caught fire. I made a halting gesture to signal that I did not wish to pursue this topic any further, while the word ‘lovely’ ricocheted around my head against my will. Cole must have misheard that. Maybe the actual word had been ‘looney’? Or something else entirely. Things are bound to get lost in translation between people and spirits all the time. I sighed. Cole looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I usually make people forget me after I helped. But you _are_ different. Almost… alike, but unalike too. A bit of here and a bit of there, but… softer. The others have sharper edges. You curve around it all, washing, weaving. Water finds a way.” This portrayal, I did not quite understand. I suspected he referred to my magic.

Water finds a way. Ariu’s words, words to live by. I smiled at Cole. Perhaps I felt the same sort of odd kinship, since we ‘saw the same colours’. I didn’t want him to make me forget our little adventure and his help. The first voluntary contact I made to someone here in Skyhold should not be forgotten. Cole’s face slowly changed to mirror my smile. It looked a bit eerie with his permanently goggle-eyed expression, but I didn’t mind.

“Alright. I won’t make you forget. And I like talking to you.” And then he vanished quite suddenly. But I heard his voice for a moment, humming a tune so hauntingly familiar. I could almost hear the words –

_Hush now, little darling_  
Close your eyes and sleep  
Waltzing the waves  
Diving in the deep

My childhood lullaby. I sang it in my head as I walked back to the tavern, and for the first time since I arrived, I didn’t feel all that homesick when I thought of the sea.

Visiting the stables quickly became a daily routine, although I rarely did more than watch Master Dennet work for a little while. He crooned to his charges like a father to his children, and often he tried to loop me into these nonsensical chats. I liked him. He didn't ask questions about what had happened to me, but simply accepted me as something that just... was.

So, I had not expected to be tracked down by the Inquisition ambassador during one of my stable sojourns. And even less expected to see the Commander accompanying her. Josephine was a classical Antivan beauty, with her rich bronze complexion and exotic almond-shaped eyes, further accentuated by her smooth, royal features. The Commander dwarfed her as he did most people, but she seemed perfectly oblivious to his looming size as she spoke to me, as if he was an over-large but well-behaved cat following at her heels. I didn't share her casual ease around him, throwing him frequent wary glances even though he acted with the same flawless courtesy as the last time we'd spoken.

Realizing that Josephine had given great thought to showing me good-will by offering to teach me the sign language made me feel both deeply indebted and inadequate. I had avoided any real contact to Skyhold's residents until now. It shamed me that my fear of the unknown had made me hold myself apart from them. I fled after she left, and was further baffled when Commander Cullen followed me to the ramparts. Again, he apologized for his rudeness during our first meeting, and again I tried to convey that it was fine, already forgotten.

I kept wondering why he would make such a point of reassuring me. Guilty conscience? The notion was mystifying, if not ridiculous. I had done nothing to warrant his kindness. He knew very little about me at all. And still... I did feel more welcome after talking to him, and more determined to make this situation work out, whatever that meant.

I returned to my room with the intention of putting myself to rights before meeting the ambassador as she had suggested. But when I saw what lay on my bed, my mouth dropped open in shock. The 'few things' Josephine had spoken about were a monumental understatement. Without having asked her to, she had outfitted me with an entirely new wardrobe. The clothes were very similar in style to what I’d worn on the Tidedancer, but tweaked for Skyhold’s cold weather. Several swashbuckler-style shirts, from highever weave instead of linen, cosy warm and soft. Loose at the sleeves, the way I liked them.

I now owned four outerwear corsets, made from different kinds of leather I didn’t recognize, but I suspected each of them was worth more than all clothes I had ever owned combined. They were properly boned, but at the same time inexplicably comfortable, allowing just as much mobility as my old one had. The breeches were all kidskin, buttery soft and dyed in different colours. Tailored to mould like second skin to my legs. Three belts and four scarves, decorated with fanciful stitching. But the best thing: A beautiful leather jacket, midnight blue and knee-long, lined with silver fur at the collar and sleeves.

And beneath the jacket… Two dresses. I’d never worn a dress in my life! Now I had two! One was dark wine-red, woven from rich velvet, embossed with a subtle pattern of flowers. The other… Sweet Andraste. Silvery-grey silk, shimmering like moonbeams across the water. I touched the elaborate design threading across the neckline, the cool smoothness of the fabric. I had to suppress a nervous giggle.

We hadn’t been poor on the Tidedancer. In fact, we’d been quite wealthy. But I had never owned something so exquisite. My fathers had both been frugal men, keeping the extent of our possessions to what we needed, not what we _might_ need. I didn’t even know how to don such a thing. There was no doubt that I would feel entirely awkward in it. Sticking feathers up your butt doesn’t make you a chicken. I took solace in the fact that there might never be a fitting occasion to wear it, but I did enjoy caressing the fine silk from time to time. 

I promptly changed into one of my new outfits and tamed my wild hair into a sloppy braid. There was no looking glass to check if my appearance was acceptable. I suspected I still looked like half a scare-crow, but at least I was a well-dressed scare-crow now.

When Muriel, the maid who tended to my room had offered to fill me a hip bath, I had declined, horrified. Nobody should be carrying heavy buckets up the stairs when I could weave the water from the well myself. It was a bit demanding on my qai, since the wells were quite deep, but I made the effort to fill a bath almost every night from the one right behind the tavern. Of course, I took care that nobody saw me when I did this.

On the Tidedancer, I had bathed in the sea, or sought out inland streams and ponds whenever we'd anchored in sparsely populated areas. I'd never known a hot bath in my life. It seemed wasteful to me, not to mention tedious work, to heat the water every time. Besides, Skyhold's water was not as cold as I'd expected it to be. Hot springs, warming the mountain from deeper down? Very likely. Difficult to sense it, with all the whispering stone and humming foundations in the way.

After a bit of surreptitious grooming, I went to search for Josephine's study. It wasn't hard to find, but I had to traverse the great main hall for the first time ever on my way. The sheer size of it! I had thought my own stained glass windows to be impressive, but the ones behind the spiked throne here were large enough to encompass mine ten times. And so stunningly beautiful, with all their brilliant colours.

Heavy, long tables were set into depressions hewn from the stone foundation, laden with snacks and pitchers of drink for the dozen or so guests who stood around in twos or threes, talking quietly to each other. The walls had been decorated with large banners depicting the Inquisition's sigil, a black sword stitched onto gold cloth, the watchful eye burning in the centre like a fiery sun.

Josephine's office was located at the far left end, the second door closest to the throne. After being called inside, I found myself in a large room that seemed a bit like an extended hallway, with the ambassador sitting behind her desk. A generously sized, upholstered settee faced a marble fireplace incorporated into the right-hand wall. There was a door on the exact opposite side from the one where I'd entered, and several bookshelves with their contents neatly arranged. Josephine looked up from her work, smiling welcomingly at me.

“Lady Selkie! I hoped very much that my offer might have caught your interest. I apologize for having to leave so quickly before, but decade-old grudges between noblemen require a very delicate hand to defuse.” She offered me a seat across her table, which I took as gracefully as my poor manners allowed. Josephine surveyed me for a long moment, before she spoke again.

“I trust our Commander has sufficiently conveyed our offer of hospitality to you. He might not be the most, shall we say, articulate of our circle, but in matters of sincerity, he is an infallible choice.”

I didn't know how to react to this characterization, so I nodded for lack of a better thing to do. Josephine didn't look put-out by my incapability of speech in the slightest.

“Allow me to express my condolences for the hardships you endured. When my family still had a sizeable number of merchant vessels, we used to pay the armada liberally for free passage. Years ago, when our best ship was nevertheless caught by errant pirates, rumour had it that Matthias Cornwall himself negotiated a peaceful solution to the problem.”, the ambassador said honestly.

I nodded again, this time with a bit more confidence. That sounded like something Matthias would do. My father had been one of the few pirate captains who had lived and acted by a code of honour, which he had also enforced on those who crossed the lines – in his mind.

A rare, upstanding 'pirate'. It had earned him a few friends in the armada, and thrice as many enemies in turn. But his reputation as an unyielding and fiercely tenacious man had disinclined most others from attacking him openly. Besides, he'd commandeered an uncatchable ship, and many thought him to be blessed by the sea itself.

Josephine peered at me from across the table, her dark eyes glinting with the excitement of facing a personal challenge.

“Shall we begin, then?”, she said briskly, spreading out an exact copy of the scroll she'd given me before her on the desk. Her movements were efficient, pointedly precise. Ready to set sail without further ado.

I nodded a third time, thinking that she might have given my father a run for his money, had she ever become a ship captain of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually imagine that Selkie wears something of [this style](http://wearitout.co.nz/wp-content/uploads/o_Steampunk-High-Neck-Corset-with-Jacket-N7943_35_27.jpg) above a shirt with loose sleeves and with leather breeches. 
> 
> Also the line "Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken" is a reference to the movie Fight Club, a comment made by Tyler Durden to the Narrator.


	7. VII. Signs of a Missing Person

### VII. Signs of a Missing Person

_The Weaver_

* * *

And so Josephine began teaching me the sign language. Every afternoon, I would meet with her in her office for an hour and a half, and she would instruct me with a patience I cannot comprehend to this day. It was difficult at first. Sign language is fairly different from spoken language.

There is no grammar, for instance, because one does not speak in a literal sense – although it is possible to spell out words for which one has no signs. Signing is much more symbolic, using hand gestures and facial cues, body language and even space or repetition for emphasis. It speaks through a series of concepts rather than sentences. Josephine often called it ‘paraphrasing the literal’.

Many words had distinguished signs, whole lists of them I studied late into the night after our lessons. Phrases used very often in dialog had designated gestures too, such as ‘Thank you’ or ‘You’re welcome’ or even ‘How are you?’. And although it took weeks until I felt proficient enough to conduct a conversation of significant length, parts of learning to sign were surprisingly intuitive.

Josie was a capable teacher, and during our lessons we communicated mostly through signing after I had mastered the foundations. Watching her helped me a great deal. You must understand a thing to do it. Learning to speak in a certain way comes mostly from _listening_ to others.

I became quite fond of the Inquisition’s ambassador. Her impeccable manners, her politeness and the perpetually civil way of approaching others spoke of a generous soul. Everything she did, she did with elegance and kindness. And she cared so deeply about bringing peace and stability back to a world suffering from strife in every corner. I admired her for that.

Yet… it shamed me that I’d never thought much about the things outside the little sphere I had grown up in. My time with Josephine also made me question if I had not walked a selfish path until now, too removed from the real world.

I also regretted taking up her precious hours every day, seeing how incredibly busy her schedule was. She could have been tending to the countless important issues arranged in neat piles on her desk. Therefore, I was glad when three weeks into our lessons, an opportunity presented itself for me to be useful. Finally.

I arrived in Josie’s office and found her murmuring to herself in a beleaguered fashion, shuffling a pack of letters and frowning as though the poor parchment had somehow offended her. She looked up when she heard me enter, hastily describing the Antivan mariner’s greeting. It had become a habit by now, almost a tiny joke between friends. Only the two of us knew its significance. Except for Cullen, who had been present when Josephine and I had first met.

“I apologize, but our lesson today might have to wait. I must dispatch these messages to the other advisors and a few of Lord Trevelyan’s inner circle. And my courier is nowhere to be found! Such a vexing conundrum.”, she said, casting around a glance as though the courier would manifest out of the sheer shame of having vexed her. He might have, if he’d been near. Philippe was usually loyal to a fault. As I gazed at the letters in her hands, I had a sudden epiphany.

“I could deliver them for you.”, I signed, still a bit clumsily. I didn’t have much confidence in my skills yet, even though Josie praised me for learning at alarming speed. Tapping her chin with the envelopes, she pondered this for a moment.

“I think that is a wonderful idea, Selkie. You have been cooped up for too long, anyway. This is a perfect opportunity for putting your new skills at conversation to good use.”, Josie agreed with an excited glint in her dark eyes. She looked positively playful. If political masterminds ever were playful. But by now I thoroughly suspected her of possessing a whimsical side.

“I do go outside.”, I told her with a wounded expression. “The courtyard, the ramparts… the stables.”

“Unquestionably. But you haven’t much interacted with anyone but me yet. And Cole, but we shall not count him. Let me assure you, you are ready. Should you progress at this rate, you will swiftly outpace me with the sign language. I honestly haven’t much to teach you anymore. The rest depends on you. Skill comes with practice.”, Josie elaborated, smiling encouragingly. I suppressed a sigh, both knowing she was right and dreading being pushed out of the nest like a fledgling chick. I gathered my courage and pointed at the letters.

“Who are they for?”

Josephine handed them over, explaining as she did.

“These two go to Leliana in the Rookery. You can drop this one off at the library for Dorian on the way. These three are Cullen’s. His office is at the other end of the keep, in the western watchtower. This last one needs to be dropped off with the outward courier post.”

I absorbed all of that while she rummaged in the drawers of a large cabinet against the wall. She came back with a peculiar belt in her hand. It was wider than a normal belt, with several small pouches attached to the expensive-looking leather. Each pouch was embroidered with stylized symbols in fine thread. There were little vial-like containers fastened to it too, holders for scrolls. I gaped at Josephine as she quite nonchalantly secured it around my waist. It fit perfectly. Almost as though made to go with the rest of my usual shift. She adjusted the lapels of my jacket, looking incredibly pleased with herself.

“You planned this.”, I signed accusingly.

“Goodness, whatever happened to the time? Go on now. Fly off, my dear messenger!”, she sang, placing the letters in one of the pouches and gesturing for me to get going. I gave her a withering glare before I left her office, secretly marvelling at her resourcefulness. 

I didn’t quite explore the _why_ of it, but I decided to bring Commander Cullen his letters first. Perhaps I thought jumping into cold water would best be done by talking to the person who made me the most nervous. Perhaps I wanted to challenge myself. Or maybe I was drawn by some twisted sort of curiosity about him.

It was not possible to live in Skyhold, to walk around the courtyard every day, without hearing all kinds of gossip about its residents. Especially the ‘Powers that Be’ – meaning the Inquisitor and his advisors, as well as his most trusted companions – received much scrutiny and attention. The strangest thing happens when one walks in silence all the time: People forget you are there.

I’m not saying I skulked around, eavesdropping behind doors. But I listened carefully, if only for the simple reason of getting to know the people better. Therefore I had already heard several kitchen maids discussing animatedly who was the most handsome man in the keep. They kept going back and forth between Alec, Dorian and Cullen, before breaking out into abashed laughter. I’d also caught garden strollers chatting about the Iron Bull’s nightly exploits with the tavern serving girls. Or a story about Sera, the elf who lived next door to me, attempting to bake a birthday cake for Varric, which had given everyone a belly-ache and prompted the renaming of the 5th of Firstfall to ‘Outhouse Day’.

And many more tales, some wild rumours and some things ringing with truth. I also learned much about what the Inquisition had accomplished before I had arrived, and what a remarkable group of honourable people Alec had gathered. I heard about Corypheus – a megalomaniac Darkspawn magister, and apparently the leader of these ‘Venatori’ who hunted me.

The tales about him chilled my blood and made me realize how important it was that the Inquisition succeeded in stopping him. It seemed right now, they were investigating several leads concerning both the Grey Wardens and something called ‘red templars’. I didn’t know what the second was, but I knew the Wardens. I hadn’t lived under a rock despite my sequestered upbringing. The Tidedancer had travelled much of the known world, and although I had rarely ventured out into it, I had always listened to the stories my fathers and the men brought back.

So, Commander Cullen then… His name had come up in conversation often. Not as often as Alec’s, but often enough. He’d been a templar at Kirkwall until Seeker Cassandra had recruited him for the Inquisition. While the rebellion became worse and worse, he had worked tirelessly to restore order. A man of purpose with an impeccable sense for justice, people called him. One particularly sarcastic fellow had remarked that he was obsessed with trying to fix things beyond repair, like “the Order’s principles”. An idealist?

But those scraps of information I picked up from others only served to confuse me more. I viewed chivalry with suspicion. Nobody could be that… noble, driven. And if they were, they should not be tall and good-looking too. It seemed excessive. Besides, his qai had shown me something different. Something… much more complicated. Mystifying.

_Listen to yourself_, I thought acerbically. _You see a pretty face and you already have your mind in knots over it._ I sighed. I had been cooped up for far too long, but not in the sense Josie meant. I could remember two dozen dirty limericks and even more sultry sea shanties, but I had never even been kissed. Hold on. That thought had taken a wrong turn much too swiftly. _Stop this nonsense_, I ranted at myself.

Of course, I would have known where Cullen’s office was without Josephine’s instruction. I’d seen him walk in and out of it over the weeks, but we had not spoken since the last time on the ramparts. Since then, I had thought about his words and his kindness more often than I dared to admit.

Yet… at the very end, his aura had subtly changed, growing dimmer and… more crystalline, brittle. It was difficult to describe. I didn’t usually examine a person’s qai so closely. It needed focus and became exhausting after a while, like looking at an intricate pattern until your eyes grow tired. But even so… There was something about him… Something at once bewildering and fascinating.

Pulling my shoulders straight, I shoved the persistent thought aside and stepped to the tower door, knocking in the most dignified way I managed.

“Enter.”, came Cullen’s voice immediately. With a fortifying breath, I stepped into the Commander’s domain. The largest feature of his spacious study was a great oak desk, behind which he sat right now, replacing a quill into its holder. When he caught sight of me, his face flooded with obvious surprise. He stood at once. I made a halting gesture to stop him, which had no effect, of course. It took me a moment to get accustomed to his substantial presence again.

“Lady Selkie!”, he voiced his astonishment, bowing to me as he always did. Sunlight fell in through the narrow window at his back, skipping in golden streaks across his blonde hair. I wondered briefly if he bowed to every woman, then decided that I didn’t want to know. For several reasons.

“Good afternoon. I had not expected you. Can I – help you with something?”

Instinctively, I reached for the letters in my pouch, but then stopped myself. I needed to communicate, so people would get used to my signing and learn to understand me. I took another breath of courage and began:

“I brought you some letters.” I took care to pause between gestures, giving him time to watch closely. His tawny eyes flickered from my face to my hands and back with an intense attention. I felt unduly scrutinized, hoping desperately that my nervousness didn’t show.

“Messages from Josephine, I suspect?”, he hedged in response. Had he… understood me? I stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck.

“You understood that?”, I asked by making a little crook with my forefinger at the end to signal a question. Again, Cullen observed me with a concentrated expression. The corner of his mouth lifted a little.

“It’s… _different_ to actually see it done, and not just peruse the illustrations in the manual. But yes, I understand you. Josephine told me that I need to let go of many notions about our spoken language if I want to understand your signing. I see what she meant now.”

I was so shocked that I went on without thinking.

“You studied signing?” There might have been a slightly agitated motion in my hands, because he frowned a bit as if puzzled by my surprise.

“Yes, of course. The ambassador gave me a manual. She handed them out to a dozen people in the keep. It only contains the basics, though, although I had asked her for a more extensive dictionary I could study in my free time. I am a beginner, so please go easy on me.”, he explained in such a courteous voice that I felt my face flush with colour. To distract from that development, I ‘spoke’ again.

“I did not know that. You didn’t have to take the trouble. You are busy.” I felt like an imbecile, but then reminded myself that all humans learn speech by starting small. And I was in the process of learning it anew. Also, it was better than not talking at all, and my simplified phrases likely made it easier for Cullen to get used to it.

“It was no trouble.”, he said quite firmly. “I find it fascinating, to be able to communicate with gestures only. We rely so much on speech, we often forget how much is said beyond the words themselves.”

I pondered this perceptive comment, then nodded and made the sign for ‘Thank you’. For the briefest moment, his eyes looked me over entirely before coming back to my face. I had the impression he’d done it unconsciously.

“Please, sit.”, Cullen said then, indicating the empty chair across his desk.

I took a tentative step forward, sweeping my gaze once over the rest of his office in the process. A fireplace with a nice brick mantle, flanked by a few bookshelves and an unusually carved cupboard. In one corner, a ladder led to the upper level of the tower, and a small table with two simple stools stood in the opposite one. A chess-board had been placed on the table-top, the pieces looking as if someone had recently played a game and not yet rearranged them to their starting points. There was no bed. I didn’t examine why I even looked for one.

His desk was cluttered with parchments, bottles of ink, maps and other oddities whose purpose eluded me. Even the sturdy wooden box placed at my end of the oak surface had been used as a depot for piling correspondences.

I brought my attention back to Cullen, who had sat down on his throne-like wooden armchair. The thing looked more heavy than comfortable to me. My spine already ached just by the sight of it. And then I became aware of a scent as I moved closer. Something… woodsy, almost faintly sweet and yet earthy, unsophisticated. It evoked the image of a forest – lush, green, covered with moss and white flowers –

“I don’t want to disturb your work.”, I signed in haste, suddenly apprehensive for the nervous flutter that had spawned to life in my stomach.

“Pardon me, I didn’t quite catch that.”, Cullen said. “But I saw ‘disturb’ in there, so let us assume you said ‘Of course I am glad to disturb you for a while’.”

My gaze collided with his, and I was momentarily side-tracked from the meaning of his words by the humour dancing in his eyes. He had made a joke at my expense. I was torn between smiling, glaring at him and feeling abashed.

So I did none of those things and instead sat down on the chair he’d offered me. I inhaled a breath, remembering the letters. Extricating them from my belt-pouch, I handed them gingerly to him. Cullen inspected each of the three with a frown of concentration on his forehead. He threw me a quick glance.

“How are you doing? Are you settling in well? Josephine sent a report together with the manual. It stated that your studies of the sign language are progressing quickly, but other than that…”, he trailed away, settling the envelopes onto the desk-top.

Instead of answering his questions, I first did something Josie had implored me to do in order to ease the flow of conversation. Constantly spelling out people’s names in the middle of signing was distracting for the viewer, and therefore she’d encouraged me to establish my own sign when referring to a particular person.

“I would like to _make a name_ first. This is my sign…”, I told Cullen while he looked at me questioningly. I spelled out Josephine’s name and then described two combined concepts.

“Josephine… singing bird?” After a moment of bemusement, he understood. “I see. When you speak of Josephine, you will use that sign? ‘Singing’ and ‘bird’. Songbird. That is fitting.”

And then he smiled. A slow, devastating smile that somehow transformed his whole face. Softening all hard edges. Thawing that frozen lake just a little bit. It had a near physical force, that smile. Who could blame the kitchen maids for electing him into the ranks of Skyhold’s finest? I couldn’t help but return a smile so sincerely given. He struck me as man who did not have much laughter left in him. Something I could not define flashed in his amber eyes, but it was gone so quickly I wondered if I’d imagined it.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Please continue.”

“Josephine has done so much to help me. I am very grateful, and I try to make the best of things. This place is just so vast… You have many walls. And a lot of frozen water.”, I explained somewhat awkwardly.

“Indeed. I imagine it must be very strange, going from the open sea to the tallest mountains with nothing to cushion the sudden change a bit.”, Cullen acknowledged in a solemn voice. “Still, Skyhold has the protection to withstand almost any attacker. With the Venatori searching for you, here is the safest place to be. I have been meaning to ask, but… I do not wish to reopen fresh wounds –“

“It’s alright. You can ask.”, I signed before he could finish.

“What can you tell us about the day the Tidedancer sank? Anything of note might help us track down your pursuers.” He looked at me imploringly. I gave a sigh and sat up a bit straighter to strengthen myself.

“Not much.”, I answered, my hands moving with a certain weariness. “When terrible things happen, my mind has a way of… pushing away the memories.” Cullen frowned strangely at that, but nodded for me to go on. “I remember the ship now. Huge, made for war. A red dragon on black sails.” I winced as I forced myself to revisit the memory.

“The figurehead shaped like a man-serpent. It split us in half. I fell into the sea. I drowned.”

Cullen’s expression had hardened as he watched my chopped-off, clumsy signs. He looked forbidding now, and I wondered if this was the last thing his enemies saw when they met him in battle. The face of vengeance.

“Your description fits the ones given by Leliana’s reports. I don’t know if anybody told you, but the Venatori are a group of fanatical Tevinter mages who search far and wide for new and atrocious ways to twist magic to gain power for their leader, Corypheus. He is a Darkspawn, claims to be one of the magisters who started the first Blight. The Inquisition works to stop his schemes, at all costs.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “The initials ‘C.L.’ mentioned in the orders from the cave could point to a higher ranked Venatori. But it could also be one of the red templar lieutenants. I have known several with those initials.” 

I didn’t understand his sudden fierceness, which was mirrored strongly by his qai. It burned with an old anger. The kind of anger birthed by a deeply seated grudge. I was missing some important part of the story here.

“Red templar?”, I asked tentatively. Cullen’s expression lightened with astonishment.

“You haven’t heard of them.”, he stated wryly. “It’s a bit strange to meet someone who is not up to date about recent happenings. Through Corypheus’ machinations, a dangerous variation of lyrium has surfaced and spread across the lands. When templars take it, they gain incredible strength, but at a terrible price. They go insane, turn into mindless husks, frenzied killing machines.”, Cullen explained wearily.

He looked tired all of a sudden, as if speaking about this issue sapped him of strength. I understood why, or thought I did. The notion of red lyrium was horrifying. Normal lyrium itself was dangerous enough.

I had never used it although smugglers in ports did sell the ‘blue song’ and it might have strengthened my abilities. But both my fathers had outright forbidden me from ever touching the stuff, for good reason. Besides, I did not like the feel of it, the constant hum.

Lyrium had a qai, but only in the sense that a drop of water has qai in comparison to an ocean. Whatever… thing… it had belonged to, it was contrary to my nature. Too immovable. I nodded to Cullen, my face serious. As a templar, the existence of this red lyrium must be especially atrocious. I did not want to press the issue with him further, seeing how it agitated him. I decided to change the subject.

“We hear many stories when we anchor at ports, but not everything. We knew about the Inquisiton.”, I told him, signing the word ‘Inquisition’ by combining ‘sword’ and ‘eye’.

“Our ship had a contract for treasure. Far up north, in Rivain. We had been at sea for a long time. We were tired, on our way back to Jader to deliver the treasure. We made a last stop on the Storm Coast. That was when the storm came. And the dragon ship. My fathers planned to approach you, I think. They understood the tides were turning in the world. But now… our ship is gone. And so are they.”

Cullen gazed at me for a lingering minute, absorbing what I’d told him. I wasn’t sure if he had understood my signing completely, but his eyes were sympathetic.

“I am sorry for your loss.”, he said quietly, with a profound gentleness that gave me pause. Then, as if just comprehending it: “You signed ‘father’ twice. What does that mean?”

“I had two. Two fathers.”, I explained. His expression turned to bewilderment, before it was replaced by a dawning realization. He looked quite floored.

I answered the question in his eyes with dry amusement. “They were both men, but _together_. Partners. Lovers.” Colour rose to Cullen’s face. He cleared his throat audibly, fixating a piece of parchment on his desk. His gloved hand went to his neck, rubbing it in consternation.

I suppressed a smile. I should have felt sorry for embarrassing him, but somehow it gave me a sense of satisfaction that I’d rattled his composure. And distracted him from the red templars. How peculiar, to find an issue in which I, of all people, was worldlier than a man of his position. Cullen moved to speak again, but a knock interrupted whatever he’d meant to say. A scout entered and handed the Commander some more parchments.

“Reports on the Western Approach, sir.” The man saluted and left, but I knew this to be my cue for leaving too. I rose fluidly, disconcerted that Cullen stood as soon as I did. I would _never_ get used to that. He peered at me with an intent little glint in his eye, as though he knew how the chivalrous behaviour unnerved me. And he employed it anyway.

“I have taken up enough of your time.”, I signed with a frown. “I should deliver my other messages now. Thank you.” I didn’t quite know what I thanked him for, but he seemed to understand nevertheless.

“It was my pleasure, my lady.”, he replied magnanimously, bowing yet again! Almost at the door, I turned and gave him a direct look.

“I am not a lady. You need not call me that.” Laughter flashed in his gaze.

“I know I don’t _need_ to. But I wish to, and so I shall. Those who never received the courtesy deserve it the most. Good day to you, Lady Selkie.”

That remark of his left me so speechless, I needed all the way back to the library just to gather my wits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched a bit on sign language before I wrote this story, but I don't sign myself so I'm sorry if I got things wrong... When Selkie signs, I usually describe her "speech" in full sentences, like a sort of translation into spoken language. I feel it's more natural this way and I did want to give her a means to communicate. With time, she gets more proficient at making herself understood (partially with the help of intuitive magic, I think), and her speech/signs become more complex.


	8. VIII. Learning New Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your awesome comments and kudos!! <3 They really keep me motivated and I get excited whenever I see one!  
This chapter describes Selkie's transition into everyday life at Skyhold and her becoming a messenger. Although it might sound a bit boring, I enjoyed it because I get to describe the members of the Inquisition and some of their funny personal habits from her point of view. I hope you enjoy reading!!

### VIII. Learning New Tricks

_The Weaver_

* * *

Turning over a new leaf is never easy. In the time following my first messenger run, I was often revisited by the horrible experience of being ship-wrecked, and even more often my conscience suffered under the knowledge that I had killed. Ended lives. They had wanted to abduct me and who knew what else, but still – it was difficult, coming to terms with what I had done. But one good thing about starting anew is: Sometimes, you surprise yourself. In a good way.

During my first delivery, I discovered that Josephine had cheerfully compelled many people other than Cullen to study the sign language, and as a result I suddenly had members of the Inquisition talking to me. I visited Leliana, Sister Nightingale, and was asked the same questions Cullen had asked me. Her shrewd, observant eyes assessed me as she casually wondered what the Venatori wanted me for.

Ravens cawed all around, singing her songs of praise. This was a person who knew how to tell a lie from the truth, and people who lied to her paid dearly for it. A dagger in the dark. And yet her aura rippled with a quiet abandonment. I saw something of myself in that, although she carried herself with such cool composure, and fierce determination.

“My magic, I think.”, I signed in answer to her question. “The Tidedancer was never caught because I move the ship upon the water. I ‘weave the tides’. Create an undertow that pulls the hull.”

Leliana looked at me, her façade slipping a little as surprise showed on her face.

“Maker, you can do that? No wonder they want you. They could flood cities, make their ships impossible to catch, drown armies –“ I shook my head as she spoke, making a vehement kind of gesture.

“No. It’s not that easy. I need constant focus and balance of mind, and I have very real limits. Space. I have to be near the water, or on it. Some things disrupt my ability. It has always been difficult during storms, but when the dragon ship came, I could do nothing at all. I don’t know why. I cannot conjure water from nowhere. I cannot weave water that ‘belongs’ to sentient creatures.”, I explained to Leliana, whose expression turned dark. She caught my meaning.

“That you have limits might not concern the Venatori. Limits can be surpassed by force, especially in the field of magic. Blood sacrifice, or demons. And even with what you told me, I can think of a dozen ways how they might abuse your power. It is very unique. And dangerous in the wrong hands. A good thing the Inquisitor brought you here.”

I felt a bit insulted being talked about as if I were a tool or an object to be used or abused, but there was a pragmatic truth in what she said. I suspected Leliana needed to think that way, see weaknesses and turn them into strengths, or identify threats and eliminate them. I sincerely hoped I was the former. To be honest, she frightened me a little. Even her secrets must have secrets. And people never saw her coming. Silent Feet – that was my sign equivalent for her name.

“Is there anyone else you would like us to contact?”, Leliana eventually asked matter-of-factly. “Your mother, for example?” I sensed that her question was not posed without an agenda – she wanted to know more about my background. Of course the spymaster had put two and two together. She wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite.

“I have no memory of a mother.”, I replied slowly. Truthfully. “My fathers are the only family I have ever known.”

“But they were not your true parents, were they?” Leliana surveyed me methodically.

“To me, they are. They… were.”

Flashes of burning buildings, high-pitched screams, the flames leaping above like dancing demons engaged in a fiery waltz. The base of my skull seemed to prickle with primal fear, and I felt cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. No. _Begone_. Those did not belong to me. I closed my eyes, struggling to master my breathing.

“Please. There was nobody else. The Tidedancer was my home for as long as I can remember.” My expression must have signalled Leliana to stop prying into the issue, because her eyes turned from calculating to something slightly warmer. She changed the subject smoothly.

“My agents are looking for the ship you described, and for any signs of Venatori activity that might lead us to understand what they are planning. But with everything else going on, this might take a while. Our main objectives take priority right now, which I hope you understand. Yet I can promise you that you’ll be the first to know if we come across anything about the Red Dragon.”

Red Dragon. A fitting name for that awful ship. After expressing my gratitude, I assured her that I did understand. A part of me just wanted to forget what had happened and never speak of it again, but that would have been an insult to my fathers’ memory. They had dedicated their lives to keeping me safe. I owed them everything, and then some.

And yet, I was painfully aware that they had never prepared me for a life _without_ them. A life in a world beyond the sea, beyond a ship on which they could control every last rope and plank. I had already broken some of the most important rules they had taught me – not to trust outsiders, not to show others my powers.

Why didn’t being with the Inquisition feel more _wrong_ to me? Why weren’t alarm bells ringing inside my head? Why did it feel inevitable, instead, as if it was meant to be? Was it my fathers who had been wrong, or was it me, putting my trust into the wrong people? What choice did I have really, aside from trusting my own instincts now that the two men who had raised me were gone? Water finds a way. A way to balance the scales between trust and caution. Between the teachings of my fathers and my instincts. Aye. I needed to find that way. And it felt as if I had stepped onto the right track for now. 

After Leliana dismissed me with two messages back to Josephine, I visited Dorian in the library. The entire construction of this main tower struck me as odd. I knew by now that Solas, the elven mage who had approached me during my escapade in the courtyard, lived on the lowest level of the circular structure, in a room with giant murals on the walls. He had accompanied the Inquisitor to his latest assignment, and therefore his study stood empty right now.

But before he had left, he’d given me a peculiar amulet charged very faintly with magic, and told me that it should help with the whispers until I would grow accustomed enough to ignore them. He’d also asked me to visit him when he returned, to help him study my Waterweaver abilities. I felt a bit apprehensive about that. His overflowing qai still dazed me, and I had the distinct impression that he knew more about me than he let on. But he’d been patient and understanding, too, the only one who had recognized what I was.

The library spanned the entire first floor of the main tower, stuffed to the brim with bookshelves and reading desks, which were in turn crammed chock-full with tomes of all kinds. I positively marvelled at the sheer amount of knowledge. Ariu had taught me to read and write from the handful of books in his meagre little supply. Matthias had not owned more than one tome, which I had stolen from his nightstand in youthful defiance once. The Chant of Light made for a boring read for a child on a pirate ship. I had put it back soon.

But the Inquisition’s collection was nothing less than impressive. Dorian, the Tevinter mage who’d been with Alec in the cave, sat in an upholstered reading chair between two towering shelves, perusing a book with disinterest showing on his clean-cut features. According to rumours about him flying around the keep, his sarcastic wit preceded him into every room. So did his ego. He glanced up as he saw me approach.

“Goodness, it’s the drenched little seal we picked up from the Storm Coast! Yes, I read the delightful folk tales of charming Ferelden afterwards. You clean up quite nicely when you shed your skin. And that is an understatement.”

I didn’t know if I should feel insulted or flattered by his remark. Maybe both. He rose to his feet and smiled mischievously, his eyes alight with mirth. The coal-black strands of his hair fell in sleek waves over the shaved sides of his head. He was just _too_ smooth. A perpetual dancer.

“Dorian.”, I spelled out his name after a brief greeting. “You should be Dancer.” Just as Cullen, Dorian understood my naming ceremony. Josephine had really done her work.

“Dancer it is. Remarkably fitting, since I _am_ an accomplished dancer. You should confirm that sometime.”, he teased, making me narrow my eyes at him. He wasn’t deterred in the slightest. I graciously skipped over the flirtation and gave him his letter.

“Important news from our ambassador, for certain.” Dorian scanned the envelope for a brief second, then threw it onto the side table near his chair unceremoniously.

“So, Selkie, is it? You are truly muted? It’s not an intentional vow of silence? _Ha!_” He exclaimed the last thing in a sudden, unexpected shout. I flinched back – and made no sound, naturally. Several library visitors gasped or startled. I guess Dorian wanted to test if I would betray myself, or maybe he was just jesting with me. I glared and threw him a wild gesture that very clearly voiced my offense.

He made a more-or-less apologetic face. “I’m sorry, I had to test it. Even if just for seeing your expression.”

“I really lost my voice in the ship-wreck.”, I signed impatiently. Dorian turned thoughtful.

“Alec told us you don’t remember much of what happened. But I believe at least one thing, I can say with some certainty, following a little hunch I had and some research. You did not _lose_ your voice. It was _taken_ from you. Magically.”, he elaborated after a moment. I gaped at him.

“Why? A good question. I can only guess. You see, the spell to steal someone’s voice was used in old Tevinter at a time when spoken incantations were still very _en vogue_. A magister might want to have an edge on his rival, so he would steal the man’s voice. Keep it safe in a little jar, or some bejewelled container. People were a bit over-dramatic back then. Then he’d collect ransom for it from his rival. Sounds rather devious, right? Still, this whole voice-stealing-thing is rather archaic magic. The purpose of it is beyond me.” He cocked his head and seemed deep in thought for an instant.

“I don’t know what I’d do without a voice. I do enjoy listening to myself.” I couldn’t help but grin at the slight, self-deprecating undercurrent even as he said something so arrogant. But inwardly, I reeled from the revelation. My voice had been taken. _Stolen_. I felt violated, helpless. And angry.

“Can I still get it back?”, I signed when I had somewhat collected myself. Dorian mustered me with a thorough look, as if he was trying to take my measure.

“Well… If this ‘C.L.’ character educated his agents to use the same version of the spell, your voice might be held in an enchanted phylactery somewhere. Maybe it can be recovered. But we have no means of knowing where they intended to carry out whatever villainous plan they had for you.”

The disappointment must have shown on my face, because his frivolous demeanour faded a bit, replaced by something a bit kinder. More earnest.

“Don’t make that face, Princess. It doesn’t suit you.”, he said gently. My eyes snapped to his, and I held his gaze a little longer than usually comfortable for me. His qai was a bright, vivid thing, but any closer inspection of mine seemed to glance off the surface in a divertive manner, like he was dangling shiny objects in front of a magpie to distract it. Well, here was someone who did not want me to pry. So I didn’t.

“Why do you call me that?”, I asked him instead. The stablemaster had called me princess, too, on several occasions. Dorian gave a short, resounding laugh.

“Because you are a downright cliché come to life! Not my words, but Varric’s. In every pirate story ever written, there is a ship faster than any other, and a crew of dirty-faced, eyepatch-wearing scoundrels with hearts of gold, and this one beautiful woman – the pirate princess who is rescued from some horrific fate or other. Hence: Princess.”

I opened my mouth as if to speak, then closed it with a clacking of teeth. I definitely needed to have a word with Varric as well. Why was everyone bent on embarrassing me with silly titles? And courteous behaviour. And… My thoughts ran away from me for an instant.

“But I digress. Since you are still, you know – mute, the Venatori who stole your voice must have escaped your rather formidable dispatchment of his fellows. You were underestimated that day. Whatever really happened, they didn’t expect you to strike back at them the way you did.”, Dorian went on with a note of approval in his voice. He bestowed me with a serious look.

“I heard from Alec that you had problems coming to terms with killing the men who attacked you. Don’t do that, Selkie. Don’t regret doing what you needed to do to survive. The Venatori represent everything that is wrong with my homeland. They cannot be allowed to wreak havoc on Thedas wherever they wish. Killing is an ugly thing, for sure.” He made a strong, slicing motion with his hand. “But if you hadn’t, you would have ended up somewhere far worse than here at the ass end of civilization. Not to mention, you would be deprived of my charming company. You are one lucky lady.”

Funnily enough, I agreed. Shortly after this, I returned to Josephine with her replies and gave her a detailed account of my first conversations with Inquisition members. She tried to hide it, but her face fairly glowed with pride about my success. Yet in truth, it was as much her success as it was mine – she had, after all, not only taught me but had also instructed the others to understand me. I told her this in all seriousness, and saw her cheeks blush a distinctly darker shade of bronze in response.

“Goodness, you are too kind. It was not as much trouble as that. To be honest, I had a great deal of fun during our lessons. I would love to hear more stories of your treasure hunts with the Tidedancer.” Josie smiled brightly at me.

“I already told you a dozen.”, I signed, grinning back.

“Yes, but you must have hundreds! In fact... You were right before, I had planned the messenger run for you with... a bit of a personal agenda. If you'd be amenable to it... You could keep delivering messages like this? Philippe is an impeccable courier, but he likes travelling the land, and has expressed his wish to be sent as an envoy more often.”

I was nodding before she finished speaking. “I would love to help you. You did so much for me already. I want to be useful.”, I signed resolutely. Her face lit up with genuine delight.

“Excellent! We shall make plans right away! But remember, Selkie – this is not just for me. It's for you, first and foremost. You are not a woman who sits around all day, waiting for the sky to drop. I have a peculiar feeling that you will make a fine messenger.”

* * *

Much later, I would confess to Josie how intimidating I had found the task she'd thought out for me, and how I struggled in the beginning. The amount of people I met and 'talked to' during the next few days far surpassed the number of people I'd spoken to in years. But I threw myself into the unknown, because for one, I owed it to her. And for another, it would have been what Ariu would have wanted me to do. Find a way to begin anew.

I started my work as a messenger, delivering notes, updates, important information and sometimes even objects of interest between the members of the Inquisition. It took a while to learn the keep layout well enough so I could move around efficiently. But once I had gotten over that hurdle... I surprised myself, again.

Within a few weeks, I became very good at what I did. I found the quickest routes leading through Skyhold's convoluted maze of corridors and chambers, discovered shortcuts and ways to quicken my passage through the courtyard. My life on the Tidedancer had left me with the nimble body of a tumbler, and the hardy constitution that came with sea air and fickle weather.

I was fast and expeditious. But so were many others. I think what truly made me so suited for the job was my ability to sense other people's qai. The recipients of messages did not just stand around in the same place all day, waiting for notes to arrive. With time, I became attuned to the specific timbre of everyone's auras, and could sense their whereabouts around the keep. It was bit like following a familiar scent to its source.

Although I was never really aware of it, I suspected that my own qai helped me in making myself understood through the sign language, too. Maybe I subconsciously let a bit of my life-force speak within the movement of my hands, in the expression on my face as I signed.

I usually did my first message run early in the morning, when the sun was barely up yet. I liked the dawn round, as I called it, because the fortress halls were mostly deserted, and I usually saw the same assortment of people in this first run – the early birds.

All three advisors rose with the dawn, and their messages determined much of my route for the day. Over half of my work consisted of delivering messages for them, and the other half were notes passing between the Inquisitor's inner circle. But few rose as early as the advisors, and so I spent the dawn round being debriefed by Cullen, Leliana and Josephine.

I did a second round after midday, which was usually my biggest and involved the most stops. In the evening, I went on a third and last round. This one was for closing the day with concluding notes or last-minute information that should be added to the morning reports on the next day.

The rounds were demanding work, but also incredibly interesting. Not just because I was gradually introduced into the thousand issues the Inquisition juggled all around the known world at any given time. I also learned a great deal about the people. They began to value me as a messenger, so much so that they routinely called on me when I came by. The things I was made privy to could range from character quirks to funny personal habits, or sometimes even their individual ways of dealing with the information I brought. I became well acquainted with my most frequent recipients.

Leliana, for example, would free one of her favourite ravens from its cage and allow it to sit on a small perch beside her desk each morning, feeding the bird bits of cold meat from her breakfast. I think she enjoyed the company. Illustrations of rabbit-like creatures in all sizes and poses often lay spread out on her table-top when I came by. In the evenings, I sometimes found her praying in front of the small Andraste statue in a nearby alcove. On these occasions, I knew to leave her alone, and returned a bit later.

I knew Josephine best, at least when I started out – I loved that she always carried a writing kit (she'd replaced the one she'd given me with a new one after only a day), in addition to the clipboard she was rarely seen without. She also had delightful little memory rhymes to keep the vast number of noble names neatly remembered. And when Alec was not on an assignment, he and Josie shared a glass of wine in her study almost every evening. That struck me as a little bit... peculiar, but I never pried into the issue with either one of them.

Alec himself was often away on important business, since he was the Inquisitor and all. So I did not deliver messages to or from him often, but when I did, he kept me entertained with little accounts about his sojourns, and he always asked me about my well-being. His quarters were the most lavish and spacious in the entire keep, filled with curios he'd brought back from his journeys: odd crystals and priceless tomes, little dwarven automata, elegantly carved Dalish idols; he allowed me to peruse them while he read his correspondences. My favourite was a miniature ship in a bottle, a flawlessly made replica of the legendary Dawnsailor. Alec told me that he'd received it from an Antivan merchant lord. He would always be Bright to me. I think he found the name amusing.

Dorian and Solas had an on-going, ever-lasting discussion about which arcane encyclopaedia best described the spell theory behind the elemental school of magic, or some such thing. Once Solas returned from his assignment with the Inquisitor, he and Dorian kept sending notes back and forth whenever one of them thought of a good argument, even though they theoretically worked in shouting distance from each other. Sometimes I wondered if they just enjoyed complaining to me about the other's latest “preposterous statement”. They were both skilled mages, but in many aspects, they differed as much as the night and the day.

While Dorian seemed like a man who never took matters quite seriously, Solas was one who took everything just a bit too seriously. I often delivered books procured for the elven mage by Josephine's contacts. I usually found him doing one of three things: reading, working on his stunning murals, or appearing to have fallen asleep in his desk chair. His abundant, flooding aura was difficult to bear in the beginning, but the amulet he'd given me helped. Still, I kept the name Flood for him, although he frowned a bit at that. Generally, he was a quiet, private person. Whenever I entered as he slept, I felt his qai stretch out into places beyond my imagination, unfathomable in their size, incomprehensible in their complexity. And I always retreated then, not wishing to intrude or to wake him.

Cassandra, the woman with the steely voice and the even steelier composure, could most often be found beating the stuffing out of some practice dummies behind the tavern, or else sitting beneath a lush aspen tree, reading with a focused frown on her brow. At other times, I had to enter the armory and climb the stairs to a neatly kept desk where she wrote reports by the light of an enormous candle. She was not the talkative type, but I sensed a depth to her that reminded me a bit of what I’d seen in Cullen. Her eyes watched me sharply and attentively, never missing a thing – but aside from her blunt choice of (usually few) words, she was never unkind to me. I saw her as an Eagle, perching above to let her keen gaze wander over those she sheltered beneath her wing. Oh, but how she could glare whenever Varric threw puns at her…

Now Varric, aye, he was a funny one. When he was not writing at a desk in the main hall, he roamed the keep, went to the tavern for a drink, told stories to wide-eyed youngsters or cracked jokes with the soldiers. I liked the dry, witty comments he made to me about the senders of the letters he received. Most often when I delivered things to him, I would stay a while and listen. Sometimes, we went up to a deserted stretch on the ramparts and had Cole join us for a game of _Who-Am-I_. We'd invent stories for the people walking by below, as if they were characters in a book, and then Cole would give us hints how much was true. It was one of the best parts of my day. I gave Varric the title of Joker. 

Cole had been the first friend I'd made in Skyhold, and that friendship, if unusual, would prove to be one of my truest and strongest in this new life. He didn't write or receive letters, but he kept me company on my runs from time to time, diverting the attention of others away from us so I passed unnoticed and more swiftly. I sometimes helped him in his little endeavours to make people's lives easier, and we spoke about things in our own way, as only those who can see qai are able to. If anyone had listened to us, they might have thought us insane. But since nobody saw him and I never spoke out loud, we were quite safe from scrutiny. His sign name was Ghost Boy, although I rarely used it with him.

I didn't see much of the Iron Bull or Sera during my messenger rounds, because neither of them wrote many notes. But I did see them around the tavern a lot. Sera was amusing and a little... weird. Her qai seemed to bubble like a freshly emerged stream, always splashing out enthusiastically around her. I called her Silly. She called me Mutey. It always made us both grin.

The Iron Bull was nothing short of intimidating, but he kept ruffling my hair and inventing less-than-subtle allegories about the shape of my backside in snug leather breeches. He might have been able to literally snap a man in two, but it was obvious that he cared about his “colourful band of misfits”, as he called his Chargers. A good heart beat beneath all that tough exterior. He stayed Bull in sign language.

Warden Blackwall, I saw whenever I visited the stables in my free time, doing his woodwork and whistling. It was the mannerism that earned him his sign name as Whistler. Like Varric and Dorian, he insisted on calling me Princess and let out a deep laugh every time I scrunched up my nose at the silly moniker. A down-to-earth, direct kind of man, but sometimes his aura looked as though he carried some heavy weight around with him. It saddened me, but I could not tell why.

There was one member of the inner circle I hardly ever saw, much less spoke to. Lady Vivienne, a respected First Enchantress and courtier. She never called on me to deliver messages, and whenever I had to bring her one, the look she gave me made me check if I had something disgusting on my face. Not one to mingle with the likes of me, I supposed. She was Mother Swan, always ready to deliver a pinching bite. But despite her disapproval of me, her masterfully controlled qai put me in awe. Mages’ auras are very strong, but she kept hers in check with a discipline I had rarely seen.

And then there was Commander Cullen, of course. Usually the first person I visited in the morning, and the last one I saw during my evening rounds. It struck me as strange, even a bit… troubling, that he never seemed to rest. He was always awake, alert and working, although the dark shadows beneath his eyes told me that this state might not be entirely voluntary.

At dawn, the smell of strong black tea greeted me when I entered his study. No matter what, he always rose and bowed when he saw me, and his features always lost a bit of their austerity when he did. He had a habit of resting one hand on the pommel of his sword while reading every note I brought attentively, before handing me with his own missives.

I never saw him without his armour, at some point wondering if he ever took it off – or if he went to sleep at night wearing the thing, too. And yet he donned the heavy metal like a second skin, with a casual ease that spoke of many years of experience. Sometimes during my midday runs, I found him in the gardens, playing chess with Dorian, both their auras teeming with challenge. They went back and forth in these games, but usually Cullen’s tactical expertise won over Dorian’s daring playstyle.

Besides the fact that he continued to confuse me, there was one thing about Cullen which stubbornly occupied my mind. I left his evening deliveries for last, because he almost always asked me to stay a bit and talk. During these conversations, he kept glancing through the arrow slits at the setting sun with an apprehensive expression, as if he didn’t look forward to the descent of darkness.

His qai seemed to lean up against the passing of the day like a man trying to keep a dam from breaking with his bare hands. It gave me the impression that he listened to my trivial stories about seaside life to stall time, although he never forgot a thing I told him. I always stayed a bit longer than was strictly decent, and he always looked a little disappointed when I left.

Finding a name for him in sign language was the most difficult, even if I stubbornly ignored the fact that I thought about him more often than the others. In the end, I decided on combining the concepts of ‘forward’ and ‘shield’ to form Vanguard. I didn’t comprehend why he wished that night would not follow the day. But in all my life, I had never known a man whose sheer will spoke so clearly that he made me _believe_ he might someday stop the sun’s journey across the sky. 


	9. IX. Kissed by Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, your comments are so sweet and awesome! Consider yourself hugged by the author, and she uploads another chapter ahead of schedule!  
I hope you like this one. Especially the end :x

### IX. Kissed by Flame

_The Weaver_

* * *

Life fell into a peculiar routine quickly after I became a messenger. Aside from my three runs a day, I was kept busy with several recurring engagements during the week. Although Josephine didn’t instruct me in sign language any longer, I still met with her for lessons on etiquette and comportment. As a person who delivered letters all around the keep, I was often seen by the visiting nobles, which meant I had to conduct myself appropriately in the eyes of the public.

I understood the necessity – I was well aware that I had gaping hole where my good manners should be – but that didn’t make things less difficult sometimes. The elite of society seemed to enjoy nothing more than to set up nonsensical rules for everything, from how to bow properly to a lady to the correct way of holding a spoon at a formal dinner. Sometimes Josie would set the endless instructions aside and we’d just have an evening of story-telling and leisure. But mostly spoons. And bows.

After Alec returned from the Graves, I also had regular meetings with Solas in his circular study. I came to view these as lessons too, of another kind. Sometimes he asked me questions about my training as a Waterweaver, or took notes on meditation techniques I had learned from Ariu. Other times, he instructed me how to strengthen my connection to the Fade, explaining that this should be of great import to a mage of my calibre.

I didn’t know what he meant by that, and following his complex explanations often left me more confused than before. Many things he told me sounded very different to how I had been taught, but somehow the foundations fit together. It took a while for Solas to find a way to reconcile the complexity of his teachings with the intuitive ones I had studied with Ariu, but we would go on exploring a common ground.

He became a friend during these lessons, and an unusual but incredibly knowledgeable teacher. And all the while I had the impression that his questions were more out of courtesy, and he merely sought confirmation from me by asking them instead of new revelations. It confirmed that he had known a good deal more about Waterweavers than he had explained to Alec on the day I had arrived at Skyhold. When I remarked this to him one afternoon, he merely threw me an enigmatic look and said:

“The Fade tells many secrets of times long forgotten, or times erased from human memory because they were too shameful to be remembered. Unknown magic has always frightened them, even if it did no wrong. This fear might drive certain holders of magic into hiding altogether… But their wisdoms still resonate in the world of spirits.”

He gazed at his murals for a lingering moment, before turning back to me. Well, he was right in that point, and as usually he’d hit the nail on the head. We had gone into hiding, because revealing ourselves to outsiders had never brought us anything but suffering. And now, I was out in the open. More or less. What would my fathers think of me?

“How have you fared in our dream-control exercise?”, Solas demanded then, all business again.

“It’s too difficult.”, I signed morosely. He shook his head in rebuke, making the blueish-green flames of his veilfire brazier skip in shiny glints across his bald head.

“No, Selkie. It is actually easier for you. You have a stronger spiritual connection than most mages who trained in Circles. The problem is: You try to feel yourself into a dream, instead of thinking yourself consciously into it. This is intuition and reason, combined. What does that sound like to you?” He regarded me inquisitively, as he was often wont to do while he taught me something. Rather than explaining what he meant directly, he led me towards drawing the right conclusion as though posing me a riddle to be solved. At times, this irritated me to no end – because I was prone to fail as often as I succeeded. But Solas was maddeningly patient.

“Balance?”, I signed a question mark at the end out of uncertainty.

“Yes! Exactly. Balance. You’ll try again, and learn, and learn some more. Honing your skills in this will make you more proficient in everything else. You have been taught well, yet… The teachings have been narrowed down to the specific branch of your magic. I merely seek to teach you ways to broaden the spectrum of your knowledge. Every true master knows that their skill does not reach an ultimate peak, and then stop growing. So, try again this night.”

I huffed out a resigned breath. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to learn, I just didn’t enjoy deliberately looking upon my dreams. They were not pleasant, most of the time. I told him this much, since it was useless to withhold such things from him. He had an eerie talent for educated guesses, as he called them.

“As long as you elude your dreams, they cannot be controlled.”, Solas remarked thoughtfully. He gazed at me for some time, perhaps reading trepidation on my features. “When you dream, the Fade reflects your subconscious. It is how non-magical beings dream. But you are a weaver. Even in waking, you see beyond the physical. Once you understand how to do the same thing in your dreams, you will gain control.”

The lessons with Solas were always as interesting as they were challenging, but over time, I would learn a great many things from him. He never taught me combat magic though, and categorically refused the idea when Dorian came up with it one day. Back then, I agreed, bristling against the thought of using my qai to do violence. But sometimes I wondered if I hadn’t been left much too ignorant about what the true world looked like. Over time, I would come to question if I’d really be able to avoid fighting for all of my life. Should I ever be forced into a true battle, I’d be useless. Later, I would regret that I hadn’t thought about such things more profoundly.

So, besides being taught by Josephine and Solas, I often spent time with Dorian in the library, mostly listening to his accounts about Tevinter eccentricities. Or just sitting at his side while he read and trying to hone my own reading skills. I also joined Varric whenever I had some free time, and almost every day I ate my midday meal with him and the Bull in Herald’s Rest.

Lastly, there were my riding lessons. Master Dennet insisted that I needed to know how to sit a horse. A grown woman being unable to ride was the highest form of sacrilege to him. Two afternoons a week, he planted me in a saddle atop a docile, undemanding mare (likely very advanced in her years), and put me through two hours of constant circling around the courtyard while he instructed me diligently. He was a direct man. If I made mistakes, held the reins wrong, moved inelegantly or fell off – which happened more often than I care to admit in the beginning – he simply told me so, and then educated me how to do it better. Quick and precise. Quintessentially Dennet.

I had difficulties at first. Some people might say that I should have been a natural rider by intuition, able to keep my balance on the back of a horse just as I kept my balance on a ship’s deck. They would have been wrong. It wasn’t anything alike! This was a living, breathing creature, with a quietly humming consciousness I could sense – and I sat on it! It took me a long time to get over that sensation.

More than once during my ungainly riding lessons, I caught sight of Cullen at the top of the stairs to the upper courtyard. He seemed to be watching my awkward attempts to guide the mare with an amused quirk on his lips. As if I needed more opportunities to embarrass myself in front of him.

With the riding, and the training with Solas, and the etiquette lectures from Josephine, and a hundred other things to do, I was suddenly so busy that the days simply flew by. On the Tidedancer, time had felt different, much slower. Activities had been extremely limited, especially when we were on the high seas for weeks. The change in day-to-day life took some adjusting to, but I couldn’t rightly say that I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t have called my life before boring… Linear, maybe. Or simple, uneventful. With the Inquisition, every new day brought some new experience, and somehow I slipped into the changes fluently.

Which didn’t mean that I forgot about what had happened to my fathers and our crew. The grief and fear still haunted me when darkness fell. I woke from terrible nightmares of the Tevinter ship and its great red dragon leaping from the sails to spiral down upon our heads. It spit fire and flame onto the wrecked remnants floating on the sea’s surface, and men screamed as they burned and drowned at the same time. My fathers’ voices echoed through my tormented mind.

_“It feels like the end times.” _

_“The world will fall to the strike of a flaming sword. And the seas will turn red with blood.” _

Blood.

_“Blood remembers.” _

Blood remembers the smell of burnt flesh in a darkened room. Dank, suffocating, pain. Death. Not mine, but familiar.

_“If you ever reveal what you are, they will use you for their own means.” _

Will they? Is this world really nothing but selfishness?

_“We are family. Loyal to each other, no matter what.” _

No matter what. Am I never to be allowed a new family? Do I have to walk through life all alone now? Who could ever bear such solitude? 

_“Take her as far away from here as you can!” _

But why? Why couldn’t I help? Why did I always have to be protected, sheltered, kept secret?

_“We can never trust anyone but us.” _

But what about those who took me in? Accepted me after you were gone? Why is it so wrong to trust them? Even the templar. The templar with fire in his eyes. The templar who assured me that he wished me no harm.

_“They speak of protecting the world from the dangers of magic, but they kill what they do not understand.” _

It’s not true… Those things you always told me, I don’t see them here. I haven’t been subjected to the scorn you warned me about. Had it ever been true?

_“It is better that we stay hidden from the cruelty of the world. Once it was a scale balanced. But that time is long gone now. Now the predators are everywhere, and we have a long history of being prey. That is why you will always know when you are hunted, da’len.” _

* * *

I had lived in Skyhold for more than two months when I witnessed the alarm bells for the first time. It happened a week after Alec had returned from the Emerald Graves. I was ripped from my uneasy sleep in the middle of the night to the loud, ringing clangs of the bells. Disoriented, I stumbled out of bed and heard people hurrying through the tavern corridors. Muffled cries came from courtyard.

“Fire! Fire at the stables!”, someone shouted outside my door. Agitated footsteps padded across the wooden floor. Dread broke over me in a crashing wave. No. Master Dennet, Blackwall, the horses –

I hurried to my wardrobe, grabbing my jacket and flinging it over my night-shift as I went. Putting on my boots took precious seconds, but a moment later I was flying down the stairs, pushing past other half-dressed people who were all headed into the same direction. The courtyard was abuzz with frantic activity, soldiers running with buckets in their arms, folk standing stunned by shock. I ran past them down the stone steps to the lower level while the bells and shouts and fearful qai rang in my ears. But when I arrived at the scene, I stopped short, frozen in place by terror.

The two-storey barn was ablaze. Flames licked along the wooden supports, shot up towards the roof, devouring the stablemaster’s sanctuary. The panicked whinnies of horses came from the burning mews. Searing sparks erupted as a support beam fell somewhere inside, ejecting a volley of flame and sweltering heat into the courtyard.

All the straw must have acted like tinder, spreading the fire too quickly over to the resinous wood and oiled tack. I stared in horror, for a moment not even hearing the voices all around me. I sensed people still inside the burning building, even heard someone cry out. Dennet was in there, and Blackwall, and a dozen horses, while those that had escaped were being subdued by frantic soldiers. I saw Alec arrive in a full run, Varric and Solas on his heels. Josephine stood farther behind, a dressing gown wrapped around her shoulders.

“No! You can’t start casting ice spells to douse it! Dennet and Blackwall are still inside!”, I heard Alec command fiercely to some mages who had come to help.

“We need to do something!”

“Bring more water! Faster!”

More shouts, people running to the well and back, bringing buckets of water that did nothing to quench the flames. I still stood staring, immobilized by the irrational fear I had carried with myself since childhood. The blaze roared, all vivid orange and devouring crimson. It was bright enough to illuminate the entire yard. Cullen stood so very close to the flames, directing his men with a grim determination on his face. His harsh voice barking orders to the soldiers brought me out of my stupor.

“Damn Dennet, why did he stay?!”, he snapped at one of his men. The firelight dancing over his severe features made him look like some god of fury come alive.

“One of the horses is trapped! He wouldn’t leave, ser –“

“I’m going inside.”, Cullen said, and those words spurred me into action at last. I forgot my panic, forgot the people around us, and lunged. He startled when I grabbed him by the arm as forcefully as I dared, yanking him back. I might have been yanking at stone for all the effect it had, but at least he noticed me. I had to stop him. He didn’t even wear armour and wanted to go in there!?

“What –“, Cullen exclaimed, then turned to me, his eyes wide. My gesture of denial must have been so vehement, he didn’t even speak for a second.

“I will do this!”, I signed in a flurry, pointing at the well where people were filling buckets much too slowly. Cullen looked down at me, his face taut.

“Trust me!”, I begged him desperately, panicked because time was running out. I met his anxious eyes in a painfully direct encounter, and that seemed to do the trick. He gave a terse nod.

“Make the people back off.”, I told him, before I turned on my heels and walked towards the well. Cullen heeded my order, signalling everyone to retreat from the burning building. Even though fear made my heart pound up to my eardrums, I planted my feet firmly in a wide stance, halfway between the well and the mews. I spread my arms, holding them palm-down, and closed my eyes.

Qai hummed through me as I prepared. I pushed my chaotic surroundings away, concentrating only on my life-force as it surged with magic, reaching out beneath me. No wonder we were getting nowhere. The body of water that supplied the well was quite far down. But it was big. Enough to douse the fire, and more.

Still, it was not easy summoning it up. Proximity mattered. How far I needed to lift it. Balance, focus. Everything faded away as I let my consciousness drop into the deep, touching the water whose help I needed so desperately. I became wider, fanning out over the surface, drinking from the cool cleanness. And then I began to weave. The flow of magic from me to the water. It answered at once, gushing up the stone foundations in a chilling torrent.

I moved my arms and hands, directing the flow up and out of the well. Faintly, I heard people gasp and cry out somewhere in the distance, but I couldn’t bother with that. My qai sang the song of the sea, and the water followed. Muscles and mind strained by effort, I let the torrent loose on the fire. The two opposing forces met in a symphony of splashes and hisses, smoke filling the air as they warred for supremacy.

I held the channel, calling up more, commanding it to rain down on the roof, flood the burning columns. Smother the flames, kill the embers. I was drenched by the errant spray, but it didn’t matter. Water felt no cold. The tattoos on my arms started to burn, stinging on my skin like thousands of needles. I hadn’t weaved so strongly in a long while, and my power was rusty from disuse. I could hear Ariu’s voice in my head, so very faintly.

_Too much, too soon. Selkie. Stop now._

_I can’t stop!_, I yelled at the echo of him he’d imprinted on me. I couldn’t let Master Dennet and Blackwall die! I had to help. Even as my qai started bristling at the exertion, I kept up the flow. The mad, obsessive need to rescue them, to be of some substantial use, to not let anybody else die – that was my singular focus.

Pressure built in my head, pounding and pounding, the ink on my skin nearly scorching now, the pain radiating across my entire back. Almost done. Just a little more. Loud rushing noises filled my ears, acrid smoke hindered my vision, but I saw and sensed that the water was doing its job well. I was winning against the fire. Something popped in my nose. Wetness trickled down my upper lip. I tasted blood. Probably not a good sign.

“Selkie! It’s enough!”

Cullen’s voice. He sounded worried, panicked even. I didn’t want him to worry. It was not right. He shouldn’t be afraid. And so I heeded him, because for some reason I couldn’t _not_ heed him then.

_Well, if you say so_, I thought a bit deliriously. Breaking the channel with a swift slice of my hands, I let the rest splash to the ground and pulled my qai back. Dizziness hit me like a hammer-strike. Stars danced across my vision, and suddenly all I wanted was to lie down.

My legs seemed to agree, because they simply gave up their service. With a curious bafflement I observed the world tilting sideways around me. But I never touched the ground. A strong arm caught me around the waist, pulling me against something warm and solid.

I sighed almost contentedly, wishing I could let myself flow around that steadiness, embrace it. I think I fell unconscious for a moment. The next thing I became aware of was a damp cloth being gently pressed to my nose, wiping the blood from my face.

“Maker’s Breath, Selkie.”, Cullen said in a near whisper. He was close enough so I could feel his breath stir the tiny wisps at my hairline. Even smell that elusive forest fragrance from his study, with a new, alluring note in it. Something heady and… male. Something that belonged to him alone. I was glad to pass off as unconscious then. I didn’t quite want to wake up yet. An inadvertent shiver went through me.

“Here.”, I heard Solas say calmly. He’d handed Cullen a blanket, since I was wrapped up in it carefully a moment later.

“Thank you. When I saw the blood… Do you think she is alright?”, Cullen asked tersely.

“I’m confident she will be fine. She went a little overboard with her magic. Taxed herself to a limit. Her mind protects itself with a retreat to regain balance. She will need a few hours of sleep to recuperate, but her breathing is steady and sure.”

“My friend. She sang such a fierce song! Come, water, we must help them. We can’t let anyone die by fire. And the water did what she asked. She was kissed by flame, and now she fears the flame.”, Cole said somewhere above me. My mind stubbornly ignored his last remark. The arms that held me stiffened, then relaxed again.

“The kid and his riddles. Shit, she did douse it all. I couldn’t believe my eyes.” Varric, too? I was gathering a crowd around me. It put more pressure on my exhausted mind. Instinctively, I turned my head a tiny bit and buried my face against soft wool saturated by body heat. And the solid muscles beneath that. 

I knew I would feel mortified by this later, when I’d regained my senses fully, but right then I honestly didn’t care. I felt protected. Anchored.

“Well, things got a bit too intense there.”, said Alec as he approached from a distance. “Three of the horses died in the fire. Blackwall’s fine, as is Dennet and all our grooms. A few burns on both of them, and they are coughing something fierce. But they’ll live. The healers are tending to them now.”

“Guess Princess is getting her pick of any horse she wants after this.”, Varric interjected.

“You can bet your sweet knickers on that. Everyone will be talking about this tomorrow. Is she alright? It looked very strenuous, even from where I stood.” Alec’s voice carried genuine concern, despite his usually easy-going demeanour. Fondness for him welled up inside me. He cared so deeply about his people. All of them, even me.

“We think so, but she’s exhausted. And people are staring.”, Cullen murmured quietly. I felt his free hand slip beneath the bend of my knees, while the one around my back supported my shoulder gently. The next I knew, I was lifted bodily. Weightless. Just like that. Apparently, I was no heavier than a bundle of hay to him.

“Ever the knight in shining armour, Curly.”, Varric griped archly. Cullen sighed.

“I’m not wearing armour. I was asleep when the bells rang.” I had the strange impression that he was not quite telling the truth. “And stop calling me that.”

“You are always wearing it, even when you’re not.”, Varic retorted cryptically under his breath. “I’ll walk with you.”

A low rumble vibrated against my cheek, a groan of irritation. The others dispersed then, instructed by Alec to see to the damages that had been wrought by the fire. I allowed myself to be rocked into a half-snooze by the slight sway in Cullen’s gait.

He kept correcting his movements so I wouldn’t be jostled too much, and yet didn’t seem the slightest bit exerted by carrying a live body. Although the whispering walls of Skyhold were safer for me than most places in Thedas, I had never felt complete security until now. Some part of me was always alert, guarding my back. I let go then, just for the short time where I was being held together so soundly.

“Should have believed it when I saw the drowned Venatori in that cave. But it’s the thing with mages. You never suspect the harmless-looking ones. And then they do _that_.”, Varric said pensively.

“We cannot allow the Venatori to get their hands on her.”, Cullen spoke in a terse voice. “Maker only knows what they would do.”

“You seem quite concerned about this.” Varric’s drawl had a suspiciously innocent undercurrent.

“Of course. I was a templar. I know how dangerous –“ But he was interrupted by a derisive snort and a sarcastic reply before he could finish.

“And did you often personally carry your charges back to their chambers after fainting spells?” This made Cullen stop short for an instant, his entire body stiffening. Although I was still feigning unconsciousness – and succeeding – I knew an urge to ‘accidentally’ kick out at Varric. Just a little. Some nonverbal communication must have passed between them then, most likely a contest between glaring and smirking.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”, Cullen finally growled.

“I haven’t the faintest why you’re so irate all of a sudden.”

I felt the chest supporting my head expand in a fatalistic kind of sigh. Sadly, I had no chance to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation, because they had entered the tavern and were intercepted by several people who promptly barraged them with questions about the fire. Were Dennet and Blackwall alright? Did we save the horses? Did Selkie really douse the flames single-handedly? Is she hurt?

Cullen tensed up again, pressing me closer to his chest as if to shield me from the onslaught. But before he could say anything, Varric spoke up beside him.

“Everyone’s fine. The Princess saved the day! I saw it all. Cabot, pour me an ale, will you? Maryden, prick up your ears. This is one for the songs.”, he called out enthusiastically, and a cheer went through the crowd. I sensed the weights lifting off their hearts, their auras lightening, letting go of fear and helplessness.

Cullen carried me up the stairs to the first floor, which fortunately sounded as though it was quite deserted. He hovered for a lingering minute before shouldering open the door to my room. I hadn’t even closed it in my hectic state, hadn’t lit a lamp. With exceeding care, I was eased down onto my bed. Like a precious, delicate thing.

A rush of warm air stroked over my cheek, making my treacherous heart splutter out a frantic tattoo. I didn’t know how I kept my breath from betraying me. He was so close I could almost _taste_ him as I inhaled. I knew if I opened my eyes right now, I would look directly into his face as he leaned over me, only inches away –

Something stirred a lock of my hair, the barest whisper of a touch.

“Soft…” His voice made next to no sound.

It might have been something my imagination had conjured up, a mirage. Because surely, this could not be happening. The whole situation was just too surreal. I heard him heave a deep, relieved breath, the sigh of a man who’d just received a stay of execution. His qai, I didn’t even dare to take the faintest glimpse at. I was much too preoccupied with keeping my heart from leaping out of my throat.

And then… the illusive moment passed. Cullen carefully pulled the blanket up to my shoulders, straightening. His weight lifted off the mattress, making me feel oddly bereft. As I heard his retreating steps, I did take a peek through lowered lashes. He stood in the open doorway for a few seconds, hand on the handle, his broad back outlined by the golden light coming in from the hall.

“Maker watch over her dreams.”, I heard him say to himself. 

Then the door closed with a quiet click behind him, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did a playthrough of DA:I while I wrote this story, and I wrote a few extras along the way - I'll drop them here and there just for fun. I thought up party banter/commentary if Selkie was a companion in the game: 
> 
> Selkie and Varric  
Varric: So, Princess. Ever heard about a pirate named Isabela?  
Selkie: Is that a trick question? Everyone in the armada knew the Siren’s Call. I have never met her, but my father has.  
Varric: Which one?  
Selkie: Matthias.  
Varric: Would have loved to see that. I bet she tried to seduce him. She could never resist a challenge.  
Selkie: This conversation got weird fast.  
Varric: Don’t worry, Isabela was like that with everyone. 
> 
> Selkie and Dorian  
Selkie: I’ve been wondering, Dorian…  
Dorian: Here we go.  
Selkie: What’s in that belt-pouch you guard so jealously? You never let it out of your sight. You even hide it beneath your bedroll every night.  
Dorian: You caught me. It’s my bag of “Evil Vint Stuff”. I have everything in there for a good blood magic patry. Tongs and handcuffs, lancets, pocket-sized demons…  
Selkie: Come on, you can tell me. Is it something embarrassing? Dirty poetry? Women’s underwear?  
Dorian: It’s sweets, woman. Sweets. From the Skyhold kitchen. Sugar helps me concentrate. Are you satisfied?  
Selkie: Only if you share.


	10. X. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh, it's Cullen POV time! I'm just enjoying tormenting him with that inner conflict a little... :x   
I hope I revised this chapter well enough, didn't have so much time because I'm out of town for the weekend. Still, hope you enjoy reading!

### X. Leap of Faith

_The Vanguard_

* * *

When I closed the door to Selkie’s chamber, I found Cole sitting on the first-floor handrail, dangling his legs. The sight of him never failed to make me uncomfortable. A living, walking spirit in the very midst of our stronghold, among dozens of mages – even after all the time he’d already spent here with no repercussions, I had great difficulty abiding his presence.

Not to mention the thing’s penchant to read the thoughts off your mind and speak them out loud, which would have unnerved any normal person. To me, it was a horrible reminder of my worst encounters with creatures from the Fade that could break into one’s mind and turn it inside out. I assumed my usual wariness around him, and as usually Cole did not seem offended at all. He peered at me with his eerie eyes, then intently at the door.

“I’m not like him.”, he said quietly, without warning. “He only wanted to hurt people.”

I sighed. There was no point in asking who he meant. I knew. I’d never spoken to Cole directly before, avoiding contact with him as best as I could. But a question now lurked somewhere at the back of my head, one I knew only he would be able to answer. Probably.

“Cole…”, I began slowly, feeling awkward. “When you read people’s thoughts… does that mean you hear their voices? That is…” I trailed away, already regretting my question. It was just curiosity. I’d just been wondering…

“How else would I hear? Their voices are like them.”, the spirit answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Never mind. It was a foolish question.” I turned towards the stairs, but as I moved away, I heard him speak again.

“Rise and fall, like the weaving waves. She speaks more clearly now, even without a voice.”

I could not think of anything to say to that, and so I descended the stairs. Cole stayed. The tavern was emptier than usual, but those who had returned were now gathered around a story-telling Varric, listening avidly to how Selkie had extinguished the stable fire. Although the dwarf and I had our differences, I had to admit he knew how to bring a tale to life.

I made my way to the exit, hopeful that everyone’s attention was captured enough so I would pass unseen. I didn’t want to get caught up in the questioning again – I had to go back to the scene, assess the damage, make arrangements for reparations… But it was not my lucky day. Varric caught sight of my attempt at being inconspicuous, and promptly excused himself from the conversation to meet me at the door.

“Give the princess a good-night kiss, noble knight?”, he asked with that annoying smirk of his that made me want to throttle him.

Against my will, I felt a rush of embarrassment. No, not a kiss, but… I had given in to an impulse, a momentary lapse of reason, an incomprehensible urge… That hair… It had streamed out in an onyx river around her, tendrils of it curling across the white sheets like glimpses of a fathomless night sky. I still couldn’t quite explain how I’d let myself slip up like that. I shouldn’t have.

Now I would always remember what it felt like, to have those silken strands slide between my fingers. Even now, the faint echo of softness lingered… I couldn’t imagine touching something softer than that… Except maybe her ivory skin. I inhaled a breath to master my unruly thoughts and rearranged my features into a scowl, directed at Varric.

“I don’t enjoy you making fun of me at my expense. Especially not when it involves another person. It’s disrespectful and insulting.”, I told him sternly. He gazed at me for a second, before shaking his head with a sigh.

“Is that what you think? That I have no respect for you?”, he mused, sounding genuinely astonished. “Look, your only flaw is that you have no measurable sense of humour – besides your excessive use of the phrase ‘Maker’s Breath!’. If you can’t laugh at yourself, you might as well not laugh at all. Just looking at your serious expression is enough to make me depressed.”

“Is everything a joke to you?”, I demanded in exasperation. Varric gave half a shrug.

“Only the things that really matter. You know why? Because I’d go insane otherwise. I’m not like you. I can’t bear the weight of the blighted world without a grain of humour. Honestly, I doubt anyone can. Think on that, Cullen.”, he said rather more seriously than I’ve ever seen him get, before he turned his back on me and went to join the others again. Dumbfounded, I stood still for another moment, asking myself if I had received a veiled compliment, or just another insult. 

The news of Selkie’s heroic act spread across the entire keep during the next few days, and the story of how she had saved Master Dennet, Blackwall, and so many of our horses was on everyone’s lips for a while. I don’t think she much enjoyed the attention, since I often caught her with a disconcerted expression on her face whenever people praised her for dousing the fire. It was similar to the one she wore every time I bowed to her in greeting. I had no idea why I enjoyed rattling her a bit with that small ritual of courtesy, but I always did. Maybe this was one of those ‘guilty pleasures’ Alec had told me about.

The Inquisitor brought back valuable information on red lyrium supply chains from the Emerald Graves, as I had trusted he would. We began planning our hunt for Samson in earnest, both of us determined to bring this voice from my past to justice. I had a hard time accepting what he had become. It made me feel a strange mixture of anger, regret and shame.

Could that have been me? Could my addiction have driven me so far as to abandon everything I once stood for, break all the vows I had taken? I didn’t think so, and yet the thought came back to haunt me whenever I fought so desperately against giving in to the thirst for lyrium. I told Alec this much one evening as we sat together over reports from the Emprise du Lion, but he shook his head decisively.

“No. You are nothing like him, Cullen. You shouldn’t even be going down that road in your head.” His tone was serious. “Why did Samson get expelled from the Order, anyway?”

I rubbed my weary eyes, but before I could answer his question, Selkie entered my study silently. Was it time for the evening rounds already? The days slipped by so quickly sometimes… I knew she brought me my messages last, after she’d finished with everyone else. This habit of hers made it possible for me to enjoy her company for a little while, before I had to face the nightmares during the night. She almost always stayed, and unwittingly helped me to push the promise of looming terrors aside just a bit longer.

I stood and bowed while Alec threw me an odd little look, then accepted the folded parchments from Selkie’s hand. My eyes swept over her in the most detailed glance I dared, without it turning into a leer. She’d changed her clothes after her riding lessons with Dennet in the afternoon. The red shirt today, combined with the ram leather corset. It was difficult not to stare at her neckline on the best of days, but especially when she donned those two things together.

“Thank you.”, I murmured distractedly, catching Alec’s smirk from across my desk. I signalled Selkie to stay when she made a move to leave. She was generally viewed as a member of the Inquisition now, and therefore privy to almost any information discussed among us, but she still took great care not to intrude. Her instincts as a messenger were impeccable.

“So, Samson?”, Alec prompted, sounding slightly amused.

“Yes, right. Well, Samson was expelled for ‘erratic behaviour’, mainly because he smuggled love letters between a mage and his sweetheart.”, I explained, noting the way Selkie’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Really? For that, he got tossed out?” Alec seemed just as astonished.

“It really depends on the Circle. Kirkwall was… stricter than most. The Knight-Commander’s methods were harsh. Samson left, and the mage was made Tranquil.”

The dismay on both their faces made me uncomfortable. I rubbed the back of my head, frowning. Alec did not take kindly to the concept of Tranquillity, but I had never asked what Selkie might think of the ritual. Many mages thought it to be a cruel custom and clamoured for its abolition. I was sad to admit that it had been misused as a tool of punishment far too often.

“Maker’s Balls. Made Tranquil for falling in love. That is…” He trailed away.

“I know.”, I sighed. “Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offences.” Selkie glanced at me intently from the corner of her eye.

“Yes, from all you told me, she sounds outright mad. Good riddance.”, Alec commented grimly, while Selkie gave an almost imperceptible nod.

The Inquisitor excused himself a bit later, leaving me alone with the woman who occupied my mind to distraction these days. Standing by the small table in the corner, she touched a single finger to one of the chess pieces on the board. The expression on her lovely face was absent-minded, her brows puckered.

I had a sudden urge to run my fingers over that little crease and wipe the frown clean. Unfortunately, these unbidden impulses of touching her were not confined to fingers and faces. They had been, at first. Probably. I couldn’t remember how they had started, but after I’d brought her back to her room the other night, they became a hundred times worse.

This new obsession even drowned out the lyrium hunger pangs, the headaches. By now I just craved any part of her touching any part of me. Those capable, slender hands on me. Everywhere, anywhere. It was madness. She could never, _ever_ know.

I had ignored the signs my body had sent me, and that strategy had been effective because I’d rarely seen her in the first weeks. But now I saw her three times a day, every day, and it had become sheer torment. Sweet, seductive torment. I had indulged in the sinful weakness she evoked from me, and now I paid the price.

Silent sorceress. I delighted in looking at her expressive, fine features, that striking contrast between creamy skin and raven locks. Such a rare colour, that deepest black. Where on earth had she come from? And what was worse, the constant struggle never to let my eyes seek out what they should not.

The generous swell of her breasts, pushed high by that close-fitting leather contraption that should be outlawed on women like her. The perfect, heart-shaped backside in snug kidskin breeches, leaving both too little and too much room for imagination. Wasn’t there a saying about being trapped inside situations like these? Strung tight like a bowstring? Stretched to a breaking point?

I admit, I took peeks whenever I was sure she wouldn’t notice. My eyes simply chose to disobey me sometimes. When she turned to leave the room. When she signed animatedly, and I could pass it off as reading her gestures. I doubt any red-blooded man could have stood unaffected by her physical… assets, even one as disciplined as I. I knew they didn’t. Whenever I caught someone chancing the same glances as I did, I wanted to hit them. It was becoming so exhausting to keep a tight leash on my self-control around her. All the time.

Especially in the moments when my mind devised wicked renderings of her spread across my desk in sweet surrender, lush pink lips parting on a sigh of pleasure. Just once, I wanted to hear those lips speak my name with abandon. Maker, I was a beast for even thinking it. And a hypocrite for being loath to stop. Selkie was no pirate, nor a mage. She was both boon and bane of my existence, sent by some higher power to test my limits.

Getting to know her as a person made it only more difficult. In the beginning, she had barely ever met my eyes. Receiving a direct look from her that lasted more than an instant didn’t happen often, although I never quite knew why. But over time, I noticed her gaze lingered longer on mine, slid away later. She smiled more often. Her signs became more practiced, eloquent, at ease. All of these were indicators of a growing trust towards me, and that notion filled me with a shameless pride which should have given me pause.

Yet despite these things, Selkie stayed a mystery in many others. Maybe it was because of her figurative way of ‘speech’, which always circumscribed things rather than saying them directly. It made her more intangible in some ways. Her ocean-blue eyes were so pervasive, always watchful. And _always_ guarded. Hiding enigmas beyond counting. I could not imagine what thoughts dwelled inside a mind like hers. I never knew how much she really saw in people.

Forcing myself back into the present, I was glad that Selkie still seemed lost in contemplation after Alec had left. The topic of conversation had likely unsettled her.

“Does the idea of the Tranquil trouble you?”, I asked without thinking. She turned to face me, her eyes flickering over mine as she nodded.

“I have seen them around the keep, their faces so empty.” There was a pause in her fluent signs. I noticed from her hesitation that she deliberated something very seriously. I waited. Sometimes, she took her time. Nothing good ever came from pressuring her into answers. It only made her slip away, water between cracks in the stone.

“Their heart-magic is silent. Not even the slightest ripple. It… saddens me.” Heart-magic… That concept – she had described it to me before, weeks ago, when she had traced the word ‘qai’ on the instruction manual. Perhaps this was a good time to ask her about it.

“What do you mean by ‘heart-magic’? You made that sign for the word ‘qai’ once before, on the battlements.” Surprise fleeted across her face, telling me that she hadn’t thought I would remember. She pondered her answer for a long moment.

“Qai is… difficult to explain. Maybe you would call it life-force, or even a voice of the spirit. It is the aura that ripples out around all living things. Humans, animals. Even plants. The piece of a being that resonates towards the outside.” Her signs were just as complex as her words, and it was not easy to follow them.

“That description is… almost poetic.”, I said, baffled.

“I’m sorry.” Selkie apologized, misunderstanding me. “I try to be as clear as I can. It is easiest if you think of it as an aura, for now.”

“And you can read them on people… Telepathy? Like what Cole does?” The thought made me inherently uneasy. She shook her head.

“No. He is a spirit.”, she explained. “He reads the minds of others in the way you might read an open book. Literally, no hiding. For me, it is rather… Looking at a picture, painted in the colours that are most prominent. Sometimes the colours change, sometimes the picture itself changes. Some people are more defined than others. Mages, for example. Magic makes their qai ripple out wider.”

“I can’t imagine what the world must look like to you…”, I murmured, frowning. A tiny smile ghosted across Selkie’s face, as though she had just remembered some private little joke. My attention lingered on her lips for a bit longer than was proper.

“When I arrived here, I could barely tolerate all the noise. All the different people, humans, elves, dwarves, even these old stones, they threw their qai at me. The many mages, whose auras are harder to block out. Overwhelming, too much. I was… in a bad way. Scared. Usually, I can pull my awareness back, but that day, everything was… raw. Exposed. Exhaustion and fear do that to me.”

This must have been the longest she’d signed in one sitting, and likely the most open she’d ever been with me. I understood the protective reaction at her arrival better, the barrier of water to block out the relentless assault on this… sixth sense the possessed. It made me regret once again how callously I’d acted back then, while at the same time I was very curious how such an aura appeared to her. Especially mine… Maker, if she’d even caught a hint of what I truly felt when looking at her… She’d run screaming. Silently screaming.

“You were there.”, Selkie signed. The movement of her hands almost seemed involuntary, as if she’d done it without thinking. “Something inside you leaped forward. It was very strong. An instinct? You were poised to strike.”

“Don’t remind me.”, I bade her, my tone sullen. “I am not proud that my fear of magic still flares up like that. I wasn’t on my best behaviour that day.”

“It was gone later, and I didn’t see it since then.” I briefly wondered what had replaced it, what she really _did _see there, but it felt incredibly personal to ask her. Indiscreet.

Selkie went motionless for an instant, but then she lifted her head. Our gazes collided and held. There was a room’s worth of space between us, but still she seemed to draw me in with nothing more than the gravity of her eyes. Like an inexorable current, pulling me closer.

“You said fear.”, she signed slowly. “You fear me?” Her gesture of marking a sentence as a question was just a bit apprehensive. I fought down the first response that came to my mind. Instead, I averted my face for once, staring off into the distance, searching for words to explain.

“I have seen the worst mages have to offer. Not fearing the dangers of magic would be just as foolish as meeting the drawn blade of an enemy with your guard down. But I have also seen the worst templars have to offer, regrettably. I was chosen into this position for being circumspect, precise. For giving preference to caution, while taking care not to let the prejudices I might have run away with me.”

I could feel the weight of her regard, and within it a significance I could not entirely understand. Intuition whispered that much of her opinion about me would be measured by the implications I made in my answer.

“That said…”, I continued, taking a breath to steady myself. “If I have given you the impression that I still suspect you, I apologize. Magic can be wielded in many ways. As a tool, or a weapon, or even an instrument of torture. It can soothe or deliver pain. But once I saw how you wield yours… I had no reason to fear you. And I didn’t, ever since.”

When I looked at her again, Selkie’s lips parted as if she wanted to speak. For a second I thought she actually would, because the wish to say something out loud flared so strongly in her eyes. It was followed by an abject frustration I had difficulty bearing. Her hands moved with a certain weary acceptance as she signed instead.

“Thank you for your honesty, Cullen.” I couldn’t fathom the meaning behind her spelling out my name instead of using the defined sign for it. Maybe she did it for emphasis. Or maybe for a different reason. It exasperated me that I didn’t know, so much so that I almost missed the last thing she told me.

“I should leave now. But… I am glad you took the leap of faith. I would never want to find myself looking down the sharp end of your blade.”

_And you never will. Not you. Never you._ I thought fiercely. But like so many things, I kept that reply to myself. 

Only when she came to me as a beautiful dream, a fleeting solace in the darkest recess of the night, could I confess those secrets I held to her. In these delusional fantasies, I felt her skin on mine, smelled her exotic fragrance, tasted her on my tongue. But those imagined sensations always left me even more hollow with yearning when I woke. Aroused to the point of pain. Shame-ridden. Craving more. Always craving more. Trading one addiction for another. It wasn’t enough to stem the tide. Not by a long stretch.

Maker, how I longed to let go. How I longed to allow myself an ounce of softness, something that was mine alone. Mine to cherish. Mine to keep safe. So selfish. Misplaced. Did that wish betray me? Did it betray the cause I served, the faith I clung to, the life I’d dedicated myself to?

I was a man leaning desperately against an avalanche that would bury me. Duty. Lyrium. Regret. The siren song of a woman who had no voice, a woman I could not drive out of my mind no matter how hard I tried.

_“You fear me?” _

_Yes, sorceress. Maker, yes._, I’d wanted to say. _I fear what you do to me. I fear what I might do to you. I fear the power you hold in those small, nimble hands. And most of all, I fear that one of these days I will look into your eyes and drown in them. Lose control. Give in. It frightens me how much I want to. _


	11. XI. Two Women to Rule the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for your comments and kudos, you awesome people <3 I'm happy you are enjoying the story!  
This chapter is about the preparations for the Satinalia feast and contains some precious "girl time" between Selkie, Josie and Leliana. I loved writing about the Satinalia feast and its build-up, it's one of my favorite parts in this story, especially the atmosphere and the conversations. Enjoy reading!

### XI. Two Women to Rule the World

_The Weaver_

* * *

“Please, Selkie! I do wish you’d do me this small favour!” Even when Josephine begged, she did it with artful refinement. I sighed and shifted on the garden bench uncomfortably. Early afternoon was usually the only time of the day I had entirely to myself. I’d been enjoying a quiet reprieve after my midday round when Josie had tracked me down with all the precision of a bloodhound.

“I would look ridiculous.”, I signed vehemently, shaking my head. She mirrored the movement with the same exasperation.

“The only ridiculous thing about you is your square refusal of higher fashion. It will be Satinalia! A proper fête, a wonderful banquet! Dancing and revelry, with all the old traditions I could find. I have done my best to make everything perfect, and that includes seeing you in that wine-red velvet. It is an absolute crime to let that exquisite fabric hang in a mothy closet.”

I threw her an annoyed glance. “My closet is not mothy. Why is this so important to you?” I had my suspicions, but was interested to hear what she had to say to that. Josephine exhaled in a rush, her hands surreptitiously fidgeting with her gold-trimmed sleeves. She looked a bit lost without her clipboard and quill as a support.

“I just wish this evening to be a success. Everybody has been under much stress lately, with the troubling disappearance of the Wardens and the looming threat to the Empress… We all need to unwind a bit. Especially –“ She stopped short quite suddenly, her brow puckering as though she was rebuking herself.

“Especially Alec?”, I supplied innocently. Josephine resumed a dignified posture that didn’t fool me in the slightest.

“I – Yes, well. Him, among others. He’ll journey to Crestwood in only a few days to meet Lady Hawke, and it’s been nary a week since his last mission. So soon… But, as I was saying, all of Skyhold should enjoy a night of celebration. Which brings me back to your attire for the evening…”

I rolled my eyes heavenward at her thinly veiled diversion. With the way Alec fairly oscillated whenever she entered the room, I wondered how she could still be so oblivious. I didn’t even need a glimpse of his qai to know. The attraction between those two was apparent.

Then again – what did I even know about attraction? Nothing much, that’s what. Except for this one tall, dashing man whose face kept intruding upon my thoughts without ever asking for permission. Carving himself a permanent place there. Getting comfortable.

_I had no reason to fear you. And I didn’t, ever since_. I shook my head to disperse the dark honey timbre of his voice from my mind, but Josephine mistook the gesture as a reply to her earlier remark.

“Don’t bet against a Montilyet, Selkie. I’ll stop at nothing short of murder. Right now, I am considering the best way to have you bound and tied while I force that dress over your head.”

I let out a silent laugh at her comment. Behind all that glitter and courtesy, there beat the fiery heart of a warrior.

“This conversation sounds much more interesting than having my ass handed to me in chess, yet again.” I turned my head to see Dorian stroll towards us along the garden path. He flashed me a nonchalant smile in response to my greeting.

“Going for another match, Dorian?”, I signed jovially, glad to escape Josie’s threats to my person for a moment. I didn’t look forward to being bound and tied, but knew better than to hope for mercy. She would badger me into it, and she’d do it with style.

“Cullen is surely waiting for me, all smug with glee that he won the last one. I can afford to be fashionably late.”, Dorian answered, his expression turning sly. “What’s this about binding and tying? Do tell.”

“I was trying to make Selkie concede peacefully to my suggestion of wearing a dress to the Satinalia celebration tomorrow.”, Josie prompted pleasantly. Suggestion, my arse. Command, more like. When she went on campaigns to get her way with such tenacity, Cullen would have appeared tame beside her.

“A dress? But then where would I look when you walk away? All those ruffles and folds. How positively finicky.”, Dorian complained.

I’d gotten used to his flirtations by now, and usually answered with a cheeky grin of my own. Besides, I knew it was mostly for show. He wasn’t interested in me that way – or any woman, for that matter. My upbringing had given me an eye for such things. But he appreciated female beauty, in the same manner as a connoisseur of art appreciated a fine painting.

“But I have to say, I am curious how you’d turn out in a dress. And I have a feeling I am not the only one. Go on, Lady Montilyet. Bind and tie her.”

I gave Dorian a look as though he’d just drowned my favourite puppy. He merely smiled beatifically.

“Save me a dance, will you?”, he called as he walked away. I scowled after him, before grudgingly turning back to Josie.

“What do you say? The dress would look so stunning on you. I’ll help you with all the preparations. Let me work my magic, just this once? You won’t regret it.” The girlish excitement in her eyes defeated me.

“Alright.”, I submitted. “But no jewellery. And no funny business with my hair. And no ridiculous shoes. I’ll wear my boots.” Her enthusiasm dimmed just the slightest bit, but she knew not to push her luck when she’d won a negotiation.

“Wonderful! Oh, just you wait. Come to my private chambers at sundown tomorrow. Don’t be late.”, she instructed me sharply.

“You would have made an excellent admiral, Josie.”, I told her as she turned to leave.

Josephine stopped, her smooth face momentarily thoughtful. “Do you know, the Inquisitor almost said that exact same thing once. Only it was ‘general’ instead of ‘admiral’.”

And then her lips parted in a smile so tremendously pleased, as though she had just received the greatest compliment the world had to offer. If only Alec had been there to see it.

* * *

When I arrived in Josephine’s chambers at the appointed time the next day, I found that she was not alone. Leliana sat leaned back in a dainty-looking chair I suspected to be of Orlesian design, as most things in Josie’s private realm. A rich carpet lay spread across the cool stone floor, depicting elaborate flowers and graceful patterns. It had likely been woven by the hands of some famed master. Slender-legged, gold-trimmed furniture was arranged around the room in cleverly chosen places, making it feel both welcoming and cultured, without creating a too lavish atmosphere.

All woodwork – chairs, tables, dresser, even the large cabinet against the wall – was painted in a soft cream colour, inlaid with carvings that pleased the eye. The bed was typically Orlesian as well, canopied and draped with eggshell-yellow curtains, the frame decorated with swirling golden ornaments.

A counterpane neatly covered the sheets beneath, modest in comparison. I wouldn’t have said that Josephine lived wastefully or extravagantly, but she definitely preferred the inherent elegance of Orlais to the rustic sobriety of Ferelden. Leliana smiled faintly when she noticed my baffled survey of the room.

“Most things are gifts from the dignitaries she has wrapped around her little finger. Good to see you, Selkie.” Looking amused, she folded one leg over the other with a refinement that spoke of her own sojourns among society’s highest and mightiest.

Abandoning her usual mail armour and hooded cloak, Leliana had chosen a high-collared, flowing robe for the feast, in a combination of black, burgundy and muted gold. Chantry symbols wound along the lower seam and the edge of the collar. Her narrow waist was wrapped with a length of ring velvet wider than a woman’s shoulders, but the fabric looked sheer enough to easily be pulled through a wedding band. Without the hood, the vivid red of her hair was even more of an eye-catcher. She had smoothed it into simple, straight strands which went exactly as far as her jaw, uniformly cut.

“You look ready for mischief.”, I signed at her, smiling. A fiery little glint flashed in her eyes.

“This will be harmless compared the silk-wrapped scandals and well-concealed secrets waiting for us at the Winter Palace. I doubt I will see even a single carelessly discarded stocking tomorrow morning. Not to mention flimsy garters.”

I cocked my head questioningly, betraying my utter ignorance towards the finer nuances of female clothing.

“What is that? Garter.” I needed to spell out the word, making Leliana smirk rather slyly.

“This is what I meant, Leliana. Not knowing what a garter is. Really!”, Josie interrupted then, stepping out from behind a wide folding screen in the back corner. I hadn’t noticed that part of the room, although numerous lit candelabras illuminated everything quite well. Josie liked a lot of light in any chamber she occupied.

She had traded her luxurious gold and midnight blue silk for a pristine white underdress with long, ruffled sleeves and a sleek ribbon at the throat. The black overdress was artfully embroidered with silver thread, from the deep neckline to the hem folding over the snowy silk somewhere below the knees. Her hair was gathered into a glossy topknot as always, but she had added a few delicate silver pins to match with her dress. I felt like a dishevelled buzzard who’d been invited to perch with the perfectly preened eagles.

“Can I still make a run for it?”, I signed, my mood growing glum.

“No.”, Josephine and Leliana said unanimously. I got the distinct impression that if these two would ever set their minds about it, they could rule the world. Poor Cullen. It couldn’t be easy, being the man caught between two remarkable, strong-willed women. But, to be fair, he had Alec as a mitigating factor. At least when Alec was at Skyhold.

I was subjected to a small eternity of torture then, during which Josie and Leliana became partners in crime bent on transforming me into a lady for the evening. Or some semblance of a lady. Well, in all confidence, not every part was as tedious as that. I enjoyed a heated bath in a full-size tub for the first time, which was incredibly nice.

The misty warmth enveloping me, the fragrant steam rising from the water scented with rose oil. A wonderful indulgence. I could very well get used to such luxury. I might have stayed until the water had cooled entirely, but Josephine shooed me out with a brusque gesture.

After towelling myself off, I stood in nothing but my knickers and a thin chemise she’d handed me over the screen while Josie put me inside a corset the likes of which I hadn’t ever donned before. First of all, it was not leather but cloth, tightly woven, and not made to be worn above anything but beneath.

Despite being used to the feeling of the stays, these were stiffer somehow, allowing less movement in the spine. She didn’t lace it very tightly, although I still felt the compression of my ribcage, the flattening of my bosom, the narrowing sensation around my waist. I gasped a little when my breasts were pushed high. Maker, I hoped that the gown would not reveal too much, because in the corset alone I looked… obscene.

I sensed Leliana’s gaze lingering on my back, where the see-through fabric of the chemise hid precious little. This was the first time anyone from the Inquisition saw the extent of my tattoos. The sight might have shocked most people, had they known at what age I’d received them.

Tattoos were not very common, except in Rivain, where they were especially popular among sailors. I guessed they would have looked exotic and foreign to most. Leliana did not breach the subject to me, even though I knew she was drawing her own conclusions as she always did.

“You wouldn’t need a corset at all, but it goes with the ensemble…”, Josie commented as she tied the lace at the small of my back.

“Indeed.”, Leliana supplied helpfully. “Ladies of Val Royeaux would kill for that waistline. And should you ever find yourself divested of the gown… You’d have the lucky man on his knees.” She paused momentarily, looking intrigued. “Or perhaps the lucky woman?”

I blushed at the personal question, despite myself. I’d always wondered if my upbringing would incline me towards following my fathers’ preferences in same sex relationships. Women were beautiful creatures I admired, and in the Inquisition, I’ve had the honour of meeting many stunning, driven examples of the fairer sex. But none had caught my attention in that way. No _men_, either, as in plural. Just one man, as in singular.

“Man.”, I signed distractedly to answer Leliana’s query. She eyed me with the unsettling interest of someone who spent her entire day unearthing secrets. Spymasters might change their clothes from time to time, but they never change their ways.

“Anyone in particular who caught your fancy?”, she went on casually while Josephine draped the actual dress over my head. I sidled my arms into the sleeves, coming up for air as the fabric settled around me. Keeping my own counsel on _that_ question, I said nothing. Which seemed the wrong thing to do, because Leliana’s eyes glittered at me knowingly.

“There are quite a few attractive candidates among the keep residents. There’s Lord Trevelyan, of course. Scout Fenner, Guard-Captain Morley. And the Commander receives his fair share of pining looks. Must be the hair…”

I pretended to inspect my feet in grudging silence. After weeks of serving as her messenger, I knew a thing or two about Leliana spinning her webs to trick unsuspecting people into scandalous confessions. Or telling state secrets. I would not touch that issue with a ten-foot pole. I liked my private preoccupations right where they were. Private.

“Leliana… You are prying.”, Josie warned while she fastened the gown and fussed over me.

“What? I’m just making conversation. We should have him standing in full view at the Winter Palace, Josie. The attention will drive him mad.”, Leliana mused.

“Maker, you are diabolical.”, Josephine murmured behind my back. Then, after a moment, she didn’t seem able to resist joining the gossip. “Do you think he will dance today?” Leliana snorted.

“We will sooner witness Solas becoming the keep jester.” The two of them shared a quiet laugh.

“He is a rather grave individual, isn’t he?”, Josie deliberated, the smile still evident in voice. She plucked at the folds of my dress, tucking them in place with a meticulous expertise. Smoothing out crinkles until the velvet flowed to my feet like an elegant, wine-red waterfall.

“But then, so is our Commander. I worry about him sometimes.”

I surveyed a random embossed flower on my sleeve with undue interest, while my ears pricked up to her words. They had all but forgotten about me. It was just something that happened when I stayed still and silent. These were perfect occasions to listen to stories they exchanged about other Inquisition members. 

“Leave the issue be, Josie. He knows what he is doing.” I didn’t think Leliana would say more on the subject, but she continued after a moment.

“Although, since his hunt for Samson started… He’s been getting worse again. But you know how he is. Stubborn as a mule and too proud for his own good.” To my surprise, Leliana sounded less critical, but rather as if she admired this about him.

I mulled it all over while I was planted unceremoniously into one of the florid chairs. The fact that Cullen had stopped taking lyrium was not a secret, per se. But he usually avoided talking about it – or the withdrawal symptoms he must be going through – fastidiously, insisting he was fine.

I had the impression that a great part of his singlemindedness was fuelled by a strong, almost obsessive wish to prove something to himself. Maker only knew what. But working continuously on perfecting the troops, planning assaults on all fronts, hunting rogue red templars he had personal connections to, _and_ going through lyrium withdrawal? Too much, even for him. Sailing dangerously close to the wind. Josie’s worry was not misplaced. 

“How does the saying go? An Orlesian, a Marcher and a man from Ferelden come to a road blockade…”, Josie began. “The Orlesian will try to talk it to splinters, while the Marcher will complain about his right to freedom until the wood rots out of annoyance…”

“And the Fereldan will bang his head on it until it just… breaks.”, Leliana continued wryly. They both laughed again. I couldn’t help but smile, too. “So what does that say about the Inquisitor, you think?”

Josie did not answer at once, but instead began taming my damp locks with an ivory comb. I sensed faint magic in it. The thing was enchanted! As it slid through my hair with ease, I felt the heavy mass dry much more quickly than it should have. And it became less recalcitrant, easier to mould, the curls smoothing out into graceful waves. Fascinating. If she fashioned it into some gaudy, pinned-up monstrosity, I would strangle her. 

“He is no typical Marcher, in any case. You know the motto of House Trevelyan: ‘Modest in temper, bold in deed’.”, Josie finally said, sounding pensive. Leliana shifted in her place on the chair to my right, throwing me a prankish wink.

“Oh, I don’t know… I can attest to the second part, but the first? I heard that on his last assignment, he got very _irate_ with the Freemen of the Dales when he found women and children locked up in their prison cells.”

The movement of the comb stopped half-way through for an instant, then resumed.

“Anyone with a good heart would be _irate_ about despicable behaviour like that.”, Josie said quietly.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am doing no such thing!” The comb was yanked through my locks with increasing fervency.

“Of course not. You’re just wearing the same expression you had when we were at the Marquis du Beaumonde’s house party and I found you with –“

“We swore never to speak of that again_! It. Never. Happened_.”, Josephine fairly squeaked, her voice high enough to attract errant bats. I shook with laughter, making her smack me on the shoulder with the comb. Gently.

“You should not be laughing. A lady does not laugh at another lady’s mishaps.”, she rebuked me in her most dignified tone. My eyes flickered to Leliana, who leaned in and whispered conspirationally:

“They do, _all_ the time. But not openly, of course.” 

“I’m not a lady, Josie.”, I reminded her, still smirking. She stepped around the chair and surveyed me with such intense scrutiny, it gave me pause.

“You are about to become one.”

And an hour later, I could not disagree when she pulled me in front of the tall mirror I’d glimpsed when I’d entered. I looked at my reflection, trying to recognize the woman gazing back at me in stunned surprise. The colour of my dress made my eyes shine in a lighter blue, almost silvery. And entirely startling. Josephine had used some mysterious powder to make my skin glow with the lustre of a white pearl.

My chaotic locks had been braided into an intricate plait, winding like a thick, black cord around my head and down my shoulder. I touched the glossy obsidian tip which rested against the swell of my breasts. The neckline of my dress was not indecently low, but neither did it take great pains to be especially demure. It was exactly the right amount between coy and daring. Not for the first time, I marvelled at Josephine’s sense of style, which apparently extended as far as to know what would suit any woman, not just herself.

As promised, she had not adorned me with jewellery, yet the lack of embellishments somehow served to emphasize the simple beauty of the entire ensemble. And… If I was completely honest, myself. I did look like a lady. Judging by the faces of Leliana and Josephine in the mirror, they were pleased. Josie beamed, happiness radiating from her like the signal fire of a lighthouse.

“You do have a talent, Josie.”, Leliana agreed with a smile. “But the finishing touch is still missing, no?”

There was still something missing? They had already done so much… I turned in surprise, bowing deeply and expressing my thanks. When I straightened again, Leliana stepped up to me. In her hands, she held a gorgeous wreath. A creation made from glossy leaves the colour of a deep forest, interwoven with small clusters of rich, red berries. I looked at it in awe.

“The holly crown is a well-known Satinalia tradition, especially in Ferelden.”, Josephine explained, while I carefully allowed Leliana to place the wreath upon my head. She adjusted it methodically. The leaves had been divested of their spikes, and therefore the crown lay gently upon my hair and brow. Unable to resist, I lifted a hand and fingered the sleek greenery.

“They say holly protects against evil spirits, and wearing it brings good luck. In Denerim, you would see many young women wear such wreaths on Satinalia eve. Adventurous young lads would make a sport of stealing them – and then demand ransom for their return.”, Leliana elaborated as we turned to the doors. I felt more than a bit nervous, as though I was wearing a giant sign that said ‘ Here I am, stare at me!’.

“What kind of ransom?”, I signed distractedly. Josephine cleared her throat, while the spymaster smirked enigmatically.

“This and that. It would spoil the fun if I told you. Maybe you get yours stolen tonight, and then you’ll see…”

I believed that to be highly unlikely, but didn’t dwell on it because we were now descending the stairs towards the main hall. And I was suddenly painfully aware that Josephine’s work had made one thing certain: Tonight, I would not pass unnoticed among the crowd. I would not walk silent and unseen.

The thought made my stomach churn with a mixture of giddy excitement and anxious queasiness, because I really did not want to be the centre of attention. _Oh, that is not entirely true_, a tiny voice from the back of my head spoke slyly. _You do want attention, just not anybody’s. Only that of one particular person._

I shoved the thought right back where it belonged, into my subconscious. But it stayed persistent, needling me with the knowledge that I had only let Josephine preen me today for one simple reason that had little to do with Satinalia. Maker’s mercy, this would end in disaster, surely. Because while I might have looked like a lady, inside I was still an awkward, clueless, unrefined woman raised by seafarers. But maybe just for tonight, I might be able to step out of that role and into another. I had no idea if I would regret it or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagined the holly crown Selkie wears to the celebration somewhat like [this](https://www.shannonprincess.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/holly-wreath-2.jpg) and [this dress](https://i.etsystatic.com/6850893/r/il/6e7a4d/1382809913/il_fullxfull.1382809913_thm7.jpg) comes close to the one she is wearing.


	12. XII. Holly Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, time for the actual feast! This is one of the longest chapters in the whole story I think, it's over 7000 words... What was I thinking? But There wasn't a good place to do a split, so here you are! Loooong chapter with lots of revelry and what I hope is an interesting ending... Heheh. Enjoy <3 <3

### XII. Holly Crown

_The Weaver_

* * *

The Satinalia feast was already well underway when I arrived in the great hall with Josie and Leliana. People filled up the generous space of the throne room in what could only be called a crowded bustle. Decorations of holly, mistletoe and other evergreen boughs festooned the walls or otherwise graced the hall in strategic places, always intricately arranged. The long tables creaked beneath platters of food and carafes of wine, mead, ale and drinks of much stronger calibre. Glittering light skipped across countless heads, streaming down in a golden glow from the lit chandeliers above.

All of Skyhold seemed to be in attendance, from the youngest kitchen maid to the highest visiting noble. I saw dresses in all possible colours and fabrics, beginning at plain but colourful plaidweave and ending with fine shimmering silk. The men were also dressed for revelry – tunics in firmly woven velvet or cambric, cured leather waistcoats, dark breeches, shiny boots. Light glanced off silver buckles and gold jewellery, opalescent earrings and blood-red rubies.

Maryden had gotten herself reinforcements on the musical front in the form of two lute-players who played along with her jaunty tunes in perfect synchrony. People sat at the tables, stood conversing in groups, or else moved subtly to the music swirling across the hall as though they could not quite stay still. In the space left open below the throne, some dozen couples danced effervescently, completely caught up in the verve of the song. The atmosphere was festive, vivacious – full to the brim with the brilliance of life. Every single person’s aura shone with such joy and ease, it was contagious.

Invigorated by the sheer liveliness around me, I stood a bit straighter, breathed in the scents of the feast. Succulent venison in some spicy sauce, parsley potatoes roasted with onions, little citrus cakes with thick sugar icing that made my mouth water at the sight. Mulled wine and warmed, honeyed mead.

“Enjoy yourself, Selkie.”, Josephine murmured into my ear. I wondered if it was the constant concert of the feast’s noises, or if she had actually sounded mischievous. But before I could react, she had disappeared into the crowd along with Leliana. And so I began exploring.

As I weaved my way carefully through the crowd, I spotted Varric, the Bull and Sera deeply immersed in a game of Wicked Grace. They were taunting each other, their faces wearing such vicious expressions that they could as well have been engaged in a three-way fight to the death. Solas stood quietly in a shadowed corner close to the door that led to his study, observing the happenings with a relatively equanimous expression. I caught sight of Alec and Josephine, with their heads bent together in what looked like an intense conversation.

All the while I kept snatching small morsels from the overflowing platters as I went, especially savouring the little miniature cottage pies. So impossibly juicy inside! I came across Lady Vivienne regaling a coterie of mages while she sat her chair at the table with the majestic self-assurance of a queen. Blackwall and Dennet, cracking jokes about the pranks they had played on girls in their youth, the young soldiers gathered around them listening with wide eyes. I saw Cassandra and Leliana exchanging and sampling little cakes while they discussed some topic or other animatedly.

“Everyone is happy.” Cole’s quiet voice almost made me drop the goblet of mulled wine I had poured myself. It was still difficult to anticipate him if he chose to be unseen, although I knew the timbre of his qai well. I faced him, smiling at the little mistletoe arrangement pinned to his usual peasant boy attire. He didn’t wear his hat, which made his unruly flaxen hair shine like a halo in the chandelier light.

“It was a good thing to do this. It helps people. Relaxed, revelling, replenished from the hardships for one night. It’s a short happiness, but it shines like a little flame when they remember it.”

I couldn’t sign properly with the goblet in my hand, so I formed the thoughts for him.

“_People draw strength from times like these. Their hearts are lighter. All thanks to Josie_.”

Cole nodded, looking pleased. Then he gazed at me for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“She made you so you would be seen, and you _want_ to be seen. But you hide. I don’t understand.”, he pondered. I shook my head a little as I took a small sip of the wine to evade the question in his words. Of course, he still saw right through me.

“Only one should see me.”, Cole murmured. “He is not happy like the others today. He hides too. Hunted, hounded, herded into a corner, but… too polite to tell them they are all wrong.”

Before I could reply to this cryptic comment – 

“Maker, it is Selkie!” This exclamation was delivered by the voice of my favourite mischief-making mage in the keep. Dorian. I caught sight of him as he waved at me over the heads of a few people, not even caring that he’d just announced my presence loudly to everyone in the vicinity.

“Get over here, silly woman!” I sighed and nodded to Cole with a rueful smile. He simply melted back into the shadows at the edges of the hall.

As I wound my way between the other guests to Dorian, I noticed that he had been in conversation with another person when he’d spotted me. Cullen. How had I not seen him? He was tall enough for his head to rise several inches above everybody else’s. My wayward heart kicked into frantic motion as I closed in on the two of them.

On the night of the stable fire, I had seen Cullen without his armour, but I hadn’t had the time back then to take in that sight. Now I did. Or rather _it_ took _me_ in. He had exchanged the heavy metal for a simple dark shirt with no adornment other than a subtly stitched pattern on the collar. He was not a man who donned ridiculous frills, fancy fabrics or ruffled sleeves. They would have looked entirely wrong on him.

But the clean simplicity of his attire only served to draw attention to his formidable physique. The broad width of his shoulders. The subtle ripple of muscles stretching the cloth around his arms as he shifted his weight. The sheer potency in his stance, carefully contained and yet impossible to ignore. He stood among the lively crowd with a peculiar stillness, surveying the surroundings as vigilantly as ever. I tried not to stare. And failed.

Dorian, however, had an entirely different style of dress. Bright and cleverly embellished to bring out his smooth masculine beauty, yet somehow it put Cullen into an even starker contrast. I inhaled deeply in a desperate attempt to calm my breath. By some means, I managed a polite greeting without stumbling over the seam of my dress.

“You shed your skin yet again!”, Dorian remarked cheerfully. “And this time, you almost had me struck speechless. Which would have been quite the occasion, I’m sure.”

Had he said this to me in private, I would have laughed. But with Cullen’s perceptive gaze on me, I felt my face flush with what I suspected was a lively shade of crimson. The Commander bowed respectfully, his tawny eyes sweeping over me once from head to toe before they settled on my face. Had they lingered in several places, or had I imagined that? An arrested expression chased the austere lines from his face, but he seemed to struggle to keep his features impassive.

“Lady Selkie… You look…”, he murmured eventually, straightening.

His hand reached surreptitiously towards his hip, but there was no sword pommel there to rest it on. Which seemed to perturb him, because he frowned a little and let his arm hang loosely at his side. He looked uncomfortable. For an instant, his eyes flickered to my holly crown, and an involuntary smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

“Holly suits you.”

I ducked my head and described a one-handed sign of gratitude, certain that by now my face was a beacon for everyone to see. Coming from him, those words were worth their weight in gold. No matter how many compliments I would get, I would hold this one most dearly.

“Why Commander, I’d never thought I’d see the day of you waxing lyrical. I’ll have to mark it down in the calendar.”, Dorian jibed heartily, as he was wont to do. I had learned over the weeks to interpret Cullen’s sighs quite well. The one he issued now carried the tired sort of annoyance he seemed to feel whenever someone – like Varric or Dorian – made jokes about his overly serious demeanour.

“And yet,” Dorian went on seamlessly, taking a sip of wine from a jewelled goblet, his eyes glittering with amusement. “You slink around the side-lines, avoiding the gaggle of ladies who are trying to extort a dance from you. Like a fox fleeing the hunters. As if you could hide. Look at the size of you.”

Cullen threw me a cagy, sideways glance. I did feel a little sorry for him.

“I don’t – ‘slink around’. But this isn’t exactly my… area of expertise. I could be working, I still have reports to finish –“

This time, it was both Dorian and me who sighed simultaneously in exasperation.

“Maker, let this be written on his tombstone: ‘He still had reports to finish, and never knew how to spell the word fun’.”, Dorian declared wryly. I hid a smile behind my hand, but it must have somehow shown. Cullen opened his mouth for a retort, then suddenly swerved to me, looking troubled.

“Do you think I am like that?”, he asked, and I had a feeling that despite the light atmosphere, his question was quite serious. Did my opinion mean that much to him? I gazed around for a place to put down my goblet, since I couldn’t sign properly with one hand occupied.

“Allow me.”, Cullen interjected quietly, simply taking the cup to hold it himself. I didn’t know anyone else who was so considerate, so apt at reading subtle signs in my behaviour. It made me feel all woozy for an instant. I berated myself at once. That was just in his nature. He still looked at me expectantly, waiting for my answer, while Dorian grinned into his goblet.

“It’s not as bad as that.”, I signed at length. “But you do say ‘report’ more often than one probably should.”

“That, and ‘Maker’s Breath’.”, Dorian supplied further, deepening his voice to match Cullen’s. Who grumbled something unintelligible in answer. “You could prove us wrong, you know. It would only take one dance.”

Interested how he would react to the challenge, I watched Cullen closely. His face fell for a moment, eyes darting to me uncertainly. This time, they definitely lingered several inches below my face. On my neckline. He swallowed, his expression that of a man caught between two equally impossible choices.

“I don’t dance.”, came his curt reply, but he sounded distinctly breathless now. Dorian shook his head in disappointment.

“And here I thought you were just waiting for a worthy partner. Pity. I am sure Selkie here would be up for the task. Do pirates dance, Princess?” He flashed me a cocky smirk. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Only all the time.”, I signed, squaring my shoulders.

“Excellent. Since the Commander insists on being a spoil-sport, I think I will have to take you out for a spin. Don’t even think about denying me. You’d break my poor little heart.” Dorian put down his goblet on a side-table and held out his hand to me. I readied myself to sign my acceptance, when –

“It’s a Lady’s Choice, Dorian.”, Cullen interrupted tersely. He sounded unhappy with the course of events, a strange edge lurking beneath his composed voice.

“And _everybody_ knows I’m just the keenest follower of society’s silly constrictions. You’ll have to do better than that to stop me, Cullen.”, Dorian retorted wittily. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cullen make a minuscule movement in my direction. But in the end, he gave an oddly defeated sigh and inclined his head in a courteous gesture.

“Enjoy your dance, my lady.”

Before I could react, my hand was caught in Dorian’s, and I was led through the throng of people towards the open space where the other dancers whirled across the tiles to the bard’s lively tunes. My partner didn’t hesitate for a second, sweeping me right into the centre of the action without further ado.

With incredibly skilful hands (and feet), Dorian led me through the twists and turns of Maryden’s boisterous folk song, laughter flashing in his eyes when he saw my astonished expression. It was so easy to move with him, to let the rise and fall of the rhythm pull me along as we threaded our own way between the other couples, much more daringly than I had expected.

I was spun around and even lifted off my feet at some point, eliciting silent bouts of giggles Dorian answered with his own. To anyone on the outside, it might have looked flirty or even romantic, but we both knew better than that. I had spoken to him about my fathers, more often than to many others in the Inquisition, and sometimes I had seen his eyes glaze over with an emotion I could only identify as wistfulness. Or yearning.

Despite the sparkling shell he put up, I knew he had lived beneath the shadow of a domineering father for most of his life. Been denied his heart’s passions, although he had so much of those to give. He smiled lightly at me, as though guessing the direction of my thoughts.

“People will talk, you know. Seeing you dance with the most handsome man in the keep. And you make for such a nimble partner. It’s almost a shame, don’t you think?”

I threw him a droll look in answer, since I couldn’t very well talk without my hands. Dorian’s expression turned calculating.

“Why didn’t you ask him? I know you wanted to. And if I read that awkward display of his correctly, it wouldn’t have taken much persuasion.”, he went on, spinning me around in an audacious manoeuvre. Our dance was drawing attention by now, judging by the many eyes I caught following us around the floor. I wondered if Cullen was watching us, but didn’t dare to stretch my senses for his aura.

Still, the air carried an odd kind of tension, sending a sliver of awareness down my spine. It raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, making me feel as though… I was being hunted. Observed by something more than curious glances. Almost like on my first day at Skyhold, only this time the danger was of an entirely different sort…

Shaking off the thought, I mulled Dorian’s words over, but didn’t give them much credence. Leliana’s comment still rang clearly in my mind: _We would sooner see Solas become the keep jester._ I made a subtle gesture of denial.

“Ah, the thrill of attraction.”, Dorian remarked in a dramatic tone. “The uncertainty, the push and pull until someone yields. But I suspect in this, you will have to be the bold one.”

My subsequent glare was an unmistakable signal for him to drop the issue, but as usually, such pleas were lost on Dorian.

“You made an impression today. Don’t let it be in vain.”, he murmured, his lips quirking wickedly. “I’ll give you a head start.”

I didn’t catch his meaning at first. But as the song came to an end and he brought me to a fluent halt, Dorian leaned down suddenly, brushing the lightest kiss onto my cheek. Several people snickered quietly while I gasped in surprise, delivering a shocked little slap to his arm.

“Ah-ah, Princess. Just go with it. Jealousy is a powerful force.” Those enigmatic words were followed by a flash of amusement in his eyes. I couldn’t help letting my gaze flicker around the room curiously, wondering if the source of smouldering intensity I felt came from –

“Don’t do that.”, Dorian admonished. “It’s a rookie mistake. You’ll spoil the entire effect. Let’s go play a round of Wicked Grace, shall we?” I swerved to gape at him as he nonchalantly hooked my arm around his and led me to the tables. But I caught a pair of eyes watching me from the shadows the chandeliers did not quite illuminate. And their amber gleam was hauntingly familiar.

An hour later, I knew I was in deep, deep trouble. Sera had left the Wicked Grace game with a string of colourful obscenities (such as ‘Not pissing more silver away with you cheating shites’). Dorian, Alec and I had joined Varric and the Bull at this point.

The game had been very popular on the Tidedancer, and I had observed Old Sam – a master at work – often enough when I’d been allowed to accompany everyone to the seaside taverns. I’d always thought I was a decent player. Yet by the third round, I was beginning to have serious doubts about my supposed expertise. I had won the first game, but then had sustained devastating losses on the following two.

Varric and Alec were both opponents to be reckoned with, while the Bull mostly contended himself with refilling everyone’s drinks to the brim when they weren’t even half empty yet. It started with wine. At first.

“You lost, little one. Drink up.” The Bull handed me a full goblet as I threw down my cards in the fourth round. I made a rude gesture in his direction, but my pride didn’t allow me to chicken out. His one eye watched with amusement as I gulped down the spicy, mellow drink. I was beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You play a mean hand, Princess. But you have a tell, and I know it now!”, Alec taunted me, his mouth splitting into a wide grin. I motioned to Varric to shuffle again.

“Mock me, but you’ll dance the hempen jig before the night is out.”, I retorted scathingly.

“Dance the what now?” He broke into laughter. “What did she say?”

“’Hempen jig’, I think that meant. It’s a sailor’s expression for hanging.”, Varric explained while he dealt the cards.

“Oh, is that so? You are taunting me, pirate girl?” The Inquisitor leaned back into his chair, lounging there languidly, looking at me like a dog with a bone. “You’re on.”

I answered him with a toothy smile, perusing my cards, casually playing with the end of my braid.

“Don’t bet high when you see her twirling her hair like that. It means she has something good.”, Alec announced, cocking an eyebrow at my frown.

“Scoundrel!”, I signed with a wavering hand. My damn goblet was full again!

“This one gets prickly when she drinks. But I’m still waiting for the _real_ pirate speech. The curses, the dirty limericks, where are they?”, the Bull weighed in, sounding decidedly disappointed.

“I’m sure she’s cursing us in her head right now. Arrr, you scurvy dogs!”, Varric exclaimed.

“I have never said that in my life!”, I countered, drawing another card. Oh, I would mop the floor with them in this round.

“Shiver me timbers?”, Varric hedged, making me roll my eyes. The surroundings blurred a little as I did.

“But if we’re talking limericks, I know a great one: There once was a fellow from Ostwick, who liked bragging about his huge –“

“Don’t finish that. I’m begging you.”, Dorian interrupted him while the others hooted with raucous laughter.

“I’m beginning to think our views on pirates might be misguided. How anticlimactic.”, he continued sadly, throwing a few silvers into the middle of the table. I grinned at that, tapping my chin with the cards.

“Don’t use the word anticlimactic in my presence. It shrivels my manliness.”, the Bull warned.

“Don’t you mean ‘manhood’?”, Dorian retorted cheekily. This went on for twenty minutes, escalating into everyone telling their favourite limerick until we had tears in our eyes from laughing.

“So, tell us Selkie. What do pirates say when they face off against an opponent?”, Alec wondered a bit later. The others had already folded their cards, and only the two of us were still playing. We faced off against each other with equally scheming looks, sizing up the enemy. The air fairly sizzled with challenge.

“Your cards first.”, I demanded curtly. As we laid them down at the same time, Alec spewed out a string of profanities. My hand had beaten his. The others cheered so deafeningly that a dozen heads turned our way in astonishment. The Bull even let out a war cry, already filling up another cup with something that sure as death was _not_ wine anymore.

“Dead men tell no tales, my lord.”, I signed, taking my victor’s spoils.

“Indeed… Apparently I just got shut down. Damn it, I got too cocky there. I should have taken my own advice. Don’t trust that innocent hair-twirling.”, Alec lamented ruefully.

“You lulled us into a false sense of security, then went in for the kill. Shrewd move, Princess.” I grinned at Varric’s approval, shaking my head.

“I got lucky.” It was true. I wasn’t being modest. But for some reason, they all laughed again, and I joined in because I was really enjoying myself.

Our little boisterous round went on like this for another hour or so, until I began to have a distinct suspicion that Alec and the Bull were trying their best to get me drunk. They succeeded, too, although they weren’t even remotely subtle about it.

Maybe the games of Wicked Grace and the merry company brought back old memories of a more carefree time in my life, leaving me less guarded and more open than I would have been otherwise. Or maybe I had a reckless side I’d until then hadn’t allowed to come out and play. Now it definitely did.

An unmeasured time later, things started to teeter around me although I was quite sure I myself stayed stationary on my chair. The sounds of the feast seemed amplified to my ears, and my sense to read auras dampened just as my vision lost the ability to discern sharp edges. Alec had left a while ago, as had Dorian, leaving me alone with Varric and the Bull, who were now well in their cups themselves.

At some point, they came up with the horrible idea to start singing sea shanties (I still had enough presence of mind to realize they got the lyrics all wrong). After suffering through a bad rendition of ‘Trooper and the Maid’, I was beginning to feel nauseous, the stuffy air in the great hall pressing down on my insides. If I hadn’t been so drunk, I might have questioned my wisdom about it all.

“You know what I always wondered? Why’d you ever drink in the conventional way, if you could just… magick the stuff into your mouth?”, the Bull suddenly asked, his voice slightly slurred. I gave a helpless shrug, trying to work through the fuzziness in my head.

“Can’t weave this stuff.”, I pointed into the last goblet he’d filled, which contained something I didn’t even want to look at closely. One thing was for sure – it had very little water in it, and a whole lot of… not-water. “Too slippery. It does whatever it wants.” My signs must have been sloppy and nearly unreadable, but the Bull let out a booming laugh anyway.

“I thought you’d be better at getting hammered.” I shook my head choppily, but the motion made everything spin around me. Oh dear…

“You look a bit green around the gills.”

“Your fault. Never been one for drink. Doesn’t go well with my… thing.”, I accused the Bull, seeing stars dance at the edges of my vision. “Gonna step out for a spell.”

“Sounds like a plan. Fresh air will do you good.”, he said quietly, his deep voice carrying even though Varric had struck up another shanty, which should have drowned out everything else. Maryden promptly took up the song and played along. I had the impression that the Bull was by far not as drunk as he looked. Figures. Being twice the size of any normal man would mean you could drink twice as much without feeling the repercussions.

As for me… I weighed little over nine stone with my modest five feet two inches. One didn’t need to be a wiseman to know that I couldn’t hold my drink. I stood uncertainly, with Bull supporting my arm. I made a placating motion for him to let me go, not because I was too stubborn to accept his help, but I didn’t like the way the velvet of my sleeves chafed the tattoos where he touched me. They seemed more sensitive today. Odd.

Somehow I made it to the corridor leading into the garden without being waylaid by worried guests, thankful when the noises of the feast fell silent around me. I didn’t perceive much of my surroundings as I wobbled through the dark, deserted hallway, keeping a hand against the wall to support myself. Had I imagined cautious footsteps following me? I didn’t have the mental resources to look around, instead pushing open the door into the garden. When the cold, clear midwinter air hit me, I breathed in relief.

A few torches were scattered here and there, but otherwise moonlight and shadows ruled supreme. Blissful silence. I braced myself against a stone column, trying to master the ugly spinning sensation in my head, the lurches in my stomach. Please, don’t let me be sick all over the exquisite pots of elfroot and embrium. The healers would be scandalized if they found vomit splattering their precious herb plantations tomorrow morning. Behind me, the door creaked open. A subtle, quiet sound. This time I definitely knew someone had followed me.

My qai refused all service, but still I somehow sensed who it was by an instinct I couldn’t name. The measured steps, the precise pace. Homing in on me. Even without his armour, Cullen moved like a veteran soldier. Or a large cat on the prowl. I suppressed a mindless smile, inhaling deeply again before I straightened to look at him. 

His face swam into view above me, and I inanely marvelled how far I had to crane my neck. I usually didn’t have him standing so close. Within arm’s reach. Also, and this worried me a little, his features kept blurring, shifting to look as though there were two of him. Maker help me. One was enough to make me lose my head.

“You’re drunk.”, he murmured, surveying me with a little frown on his forehead. Damn, that frown was adorable. I couldn’t discern if his tone was accusing or amused. A bit of both, perhaps.

My hands issued a series of incoherent signs. Cullen eyed them with supreme scepticism.

“’Glowing cows keep staring at my throat’? Well… I don’t blame them.”

Silly man. I’d said ‘The Bull and Bright kept refilling my drink’. I had, right? For an instant, I scowled in concentration, but the thoughts in my head were slippery little fish eluding capture. The contents of my stomach sloshed around dangerously, and my limbs felt as though they’d divorced the rest of me, bent on setting out on their own. Aye, I was three sheets to the wind. That bothered me less than it should have, at the time.

Swaying on my feet, I made a wonky step into a random direction. The vague scenery tilted precariously. Curiouser and curiouser! Had I lost my sea-legs so quickly as to be defeated by a bit of paltry teetering? Cullen’s hand immediately came to the small of my back, steadying me.

Somehow I found that both thrilling and irritating. I was fine! He should make up his mind. Refusing dances but then coming to my aid like some hero. Helping the helpless.

“Maker, you are unsteady as a new-born fawn. Here… Lean on me.”

_Lean on me._ Three innocuous little words, an ocean’s worth of meaning. They went deep, those words. Down to the marrow. Until I wanted nothing more than to lean on him. He pulled me close, flush against his side. I felt his thigh, solid like a marble pillar planted into the ground, unmoving against my trembling leg. My shoulder, wedged into the bend beneath his arm.

His hand slid to my waist, fingers exciting a persistent pressure that kept me from wavering. The arm winding along my back hardened with corded muscles trained to lift far heavier weights. It was the left, I registered distractedly. The one he used to carry his shield.

“Better? You need to sleep it off. I’ll take you to your room.”, Cullen said, but somehow his voice sounded strained now, clipped. He kept talking as he stepped onto the garden path meandering between the bushes and gazebos and dainty wooden climbing walls. I didn’t catch everything he said. I was too preoccupied with the mossy, masculine fragrance curling up my nose. So nice… Turning my head, I hunted for more of it.

“It would be easier to carry you entirely, but I fear losing solid ground will make you nauseated, and – “ He stopped speaking abruptly when I rubbed my cheek against the plain-weave cambric of his shirt. Found it!

“You smell like a forest.”, I signed without thinking. 

Cullen halted as though struck by lightning. I think he even stopped breathing for a moment. His entire being seemed to hum with a kind of wound-up tension that reminded me of a lion about to pounce. Abandoned by my previous bravado, I didn’t dare to look at his face just then, for fear of what I would see.

“I –“, he began, then interrupted himself by swallowing. I would never know what he intended to say. His head snapped up quite suddenly.

“Someone’s coming.”

I hadn’t heard a thing, and I was much too inebriated to concentrate on my qai. It made more sense to me than ever that Ariu had never touched a drop of drink. And another thing… Cullen must have seriously sensitive hearing. The next I knew, hands encircled my waist and I _did_ lose solid ground. A swoosh of air, dark leaves and shadows whirling around me in a dizzying blur as I was hurled up and away, simple as that. It would have been exhilarating, like feeling the wind rush by on a moving ship, only in my state it did make me a little queasy.

Cullen deposited me a moment later, in the sheltering shadows behind a winding, ivy-covered arbour. He’d concealed us from the view of whoever was approaching, but he’d chosen a hiding place quite narrow for the two of us. Or mainly the one of him, since he took up the bulk of space.

The cherrywood frame curved to create a little alcove, while behind us the solid fortress walls rose like some looming giant long turned to stone. I might have examined the honeycomb-shaped recesses in the wood, the neat idea behind its construction, or even taken a peek through the thickly overgrown framework.

But I was pressed up against six-feet’s worth of _man_. My spine to his chest. My bottom to his thighs. And the small of my back to… his groin. His head was bent a little to the side, accommodating to the low canopy of leaves above. Hadn’t my thoughts already been scattered like chaff to the wind, they would have dissolved here at the latest.

Why had he pushed us both into this tiny space? The lingering intoxication made it impossible to conceive of a sensible explanation. The only thing that came to mind was that he wanted to keep me in check should I decide to do some stupid thing, as drunks were so prone to do. I felt light-headed and devious, hiding behind walls, spying through shadowed leaves.

The footsteps grew a bit louder, but whoever it was, they were taking their sweet time. Strolling, perhaps. Enjoying the halcyon quiet of a garden after the raucous vigour during the feast. What an adventurous outcome at the end of the day! Coursing with restless energy, I squirmed in anticipation. Cullen’s hand came to the flat of my stomach at once.

“Be still.”, he breathed, sounding like he was suffering through some acute pain. The rise and fall of his chest almost made my breasts brush up against the arbour wall. I tried to shimmy my way into a less… penned-in position. Cullen gave a low, tortured groan.

“Sweet Andraste, stop moving.”, he clipped. I went still at the odd combination of command and plea in his tone. He breathed against me. Deep, conscious inhalations. Each of them sending a rush of warm air down the exposed back of my neck. Evoking a clenching, fluttering sensation low in my belly that had nothing to do with my lack of sobriety. I was barely aware of the quiet voices approaching, becoming audible in the clear, cool night.

“I thought you might enjoy a midnight stroll after you worked so hard to make this celebration happen. It was perfect, as always.”, said a man’s voice. Vibrant, accentuated. Alec. And he was not alone. I already knew who accompanied him before she spoke.

“You are too kind… I am enjoying it, my lord. Goodness, I hadn’t meant to imply – that is…” Josie’s Antivan inflection worsened when she was nervous. She must have been quite nervous now. They came closer yet. Passing the spot where Cullen and I had stood only minutes before, and I had made my idiotic forest-smell comment. I could glimpse their silhouettes in the soft moonlight as I peeked through the ivy curtain. Alec’s natural ease wearing a noble’s attire. Josie’s graceful gait, the silver stitching on her black overdress shimmering like streaks of stardust.

“Always with the ‘lord’, even when we are alone.”, Alec sighed. “It’s just me, Josie.”

I could not suppress my mirth – the irony that one of the most powerful men in Thedas referred to himself as ‘just me’ was simply poetic. Hilarious, even. My body trembled with contained laughter, making Cullen go even more rigid behind me, if at all possible.

“You’ll be the death of me.”, he whispered right above my ear, his voice so low that I was not sure if I had heard him right. It may have been ‘Do take a breath for me’. But that wouldn’t make sense. Neither of those options made sense. My mind was still gleefully soaking in wine, and whatever had come after the wine. I didn’t want to be the death of him. That sounded horrible. As if I was causing him pain. What an absurd notion.

“It’s… difficult to dispense with the formality. A practise so long in the making… I really shouldn’t…”, Josephine’s words grew fainter, retreating into shadow and silence as the two of them continued down the path, deeper into the garden. A minute later, they were out of earshot.

Yet even though there was no reason to hide anymore, Cullen and I remained behind the arbour’s shelter. We just stood there. Breathing in complete synchrony. Motionless. Waiting for something, not knowing what. For the sky to drop, maybe. Or divine providence. It was me who broke the strange, unravelling suspense in the end. My palm settled onto the back of his hand, which was still pressed to my stomach. I didn’t know what I meant to achieve with that gesture.

For him to pull away, or move closer. Half-turning in the limited space, I tilted my head upwards. I couldn’t see much of him in the near absolute shadow. But a few shards of moonlight illuminated fractions of his face, like the jagged pieces of a broken mirror. I saw one silvery-gold eye, perusing me with a mute confusion. As if I was some obscure object, soon to be disassembled into its smallest parts for its purpose to be understood.

I saw part of his jaw, a starkly drawn line sprinkled with dark bristles. I saw the play of light and shadow on his throat as it rippled with a swallow. Somehow I wanted to put my fingers to that distinctive little hillock in the middle, feel it bob up and down. Women didn’t have that. Only men did. It was endlessly fascinating.

To this day, I cannot fathom what manner of demon rode me when I signed, “Would you – kiss me?”

His eyes went wide. Ridiculously wide.

“What?”, he choked with a disbelief as though I’d just asked him to introduce me into the rituals of human sacrifice. Now that I had started this madness, I couldn’t stop myself. My inebriation made me bold. Reckless. I would think about the consequences later.

“Satinalia means giving gifts. I never received one. Just… this once?”, I told him ineptly, hating the quiver in my fingers. I wasn’t sure he grasped the double meaning behind my words – that I had never received a Satinalia gift, neither a kiss. Cullen said nothing for an inordinately long time. Slowly, his disbelief made way for an oddly softened expression.

“You are drunk.”, he repeated gently. He’d ascertained that much already, but now he sounded as though he was reminding himself, not me. A bit wistful, even. “You’ll likely not remember any of this tomorrow.”

I lifted a hand to sign, although I had no idea _what_. He caught my wrist before I could, effectively silencing me. His fingers were un-gloved and cool, as though he’d just washed them in a clear mountain stream. They held me in a light grip, feathering over my knuckles.

Calloused, rough. Not the hands of an aristocrat, but neither those of a farmer labouring away all day in the fields. These were the hands of a warrior. Trained to wield the sword as an extension to the body. And yet… I could have broken away at any time. He gazed at me for the space of a few heartbeats. Of which mine was spluttering out many, in alarming rates.

“You should have asked a better man.”, he murmured.

Before I could process the meaning behind those words, his head dipped down to my upturned face. He gave me more than enough time to change my mind. To flee or slap him. Curse him to the void, maybe. I didn’t know what I had expected him to do. Expectations only went so far with this man. But I never thought he would actually grant my insane, impetuous request. Kissing me behind a shadowed arbour beneath the light of two moons. 

I was so shocked that I went perfectly still, breath catching in my throat when his lips brushed mine. Softer than I’d imagined them. Warm, like the tiny exhale that rose from him to fan out over my cheek. His mouth moved over mine in a slow, careful exploration. Sipping at the corners. Sampling my upper lip, then the lower. Dipping into the seam between them. Achingly sweet. Heart-meltingly tender.

I felt his tightly leashed passion. His frustrated restraint. In the way his fingers tightened around my wrist, twitching, then releasing. In the tangible waves of heat rolling off his shoulders. There was something mind-bogglingly conflicted in his kiss, as if he’d had to force himself to do it, while simultaneously he couldn’t abide _not_ doing it.

Within the fog of my spirit-riddled mind, there bloomed a sudden understanding, a moment of utter lucidity. For a fleeting instant, I saw him as clearly as the light of day.

_Humans have too many strings pulling them in too many directions._ For Cullen, they were not strings, but chains. A thousand chains binding him to a thousand things. Some of them were necessary, familiar, in place for good reasons. Some he seethed and strained against, testing their pull, despising the binding. I didn’t know which category I belonged to, nor if I wanted to know the answer.

These realizations fled away from me as quickly as they had come. Beneath his searching, gentle kiss, a part of me I hadn’t known existed came alive. Maybe it had always been there, dormant, waiting to be roused from its slumber. Rearing its head, it fed me with a primal, female instinct that this was _not enough_. I needed more.

My skin felt too tight, crawling with anticipation. My hands trembled, wanting to touch, to feel. My tongue flitted to the slight parting of my lips, impulsively, needing to taste. But I was fated to be denied. Cullen pulled away from me abruptly, as though he’d only just realized what he had done. I was treated to a full view of his face as he straightened. He looked stricken.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have – I – Just… this once. I will not take such liberties again.”, he said tightly.

I was dumbstruck. Had I given any sign that I wanted him to stop? Should I have done something differently? It had been my first kiss ever. I had no idea how these things were supposed to go. Sailors were not blushing virgins telling stories about moonlit kisses! They talked about – well, bedding. Tits and asses and – I bristled at the word – cunts. And even with those stories, they had been very closed-mouthed around me.

Should I have shown a more animated reaction, embraced him maybe or… used my mouth, or… I didn’t know! Had this been a momentary lapse of reason on Cullen’s side? I got the sense that he wanted nothing more than to run from me, yet he still adhered to his earlier promise and took me back to my room. We walked in silence. He didn’t speak a word about the kiss, and I was too ashamed to bring it up.

The next morning, I woke still wearing the wine-red dress, with a headache that threatened to burst my noggin to smithereens, as Old Sam used to say. Hazy images chased each other around and around, accompanied by a throbbing that made me vow never to drink again.

But when I lifted my hands to keep the brain from leaving my skull by way of my ears, I realized – something was missing. I froze in place, sweeping my fingers over my hair. Only hair, tousled from a night’s sleep. I looked around my room searchingly, thinking that maybe it slipped off. But no. It was gone.

Cullen had granted my wish for a Satinalia gift. But in turn, he’d taken one of his own from me. He had stolen my holly crown.


	13. XIII. Under Our Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the kudos and the great comments <3 I'll keep saying it in every chapter because I'm so happy whenever I see one!  
I was late with this chapter because I handed in my master's thesis and life was a bit messy last week... But here we go! For a while, this is the last full Cullen POV chapter. I like this one, because it has this really private bonding moment in it...  
Have fun reading!!

### XIII. Under Our Skin

_The Vanguard_

* * *

The dwarven master engineer did his best to explain the particular workings of our new trebuchets to me while I stared aimlessly at the blueprint in his hands. I listened to him with one ear, while my mind dwelled on entirely different matters, as it had ever since the Satinalia feast and its very… disturbing conclusion. I felt restless. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Caged within the confines of my body, too tight, air always too thin, space always too scarce. And that constant itch I just could not scratch. Or would not. Who knew anymore?

Maker, that moment when I had known I wouldn’t be strong enough to deny her request. Her lips, sweet and startled, beckoning me to taste from the secrets she held. The flavour of spiced wine and cinnamon, mingling with the scent of her skin. Rose oil? She must have used in in her bath...

Satinalia... What did it mean to me, that holiday? Gingerbread and the resinous smell of pine trees. Fresh, pillowy snowflakes swirling through the night air. Brightness, laughter and song. And now... That unique perfume I'd experienced in her kiss. It was etched into my memory forever. I hadn't at all been confident that I'd be strong enough to end it before I lost my head completely. Later, when I'd lain in my bed with the holly crown on the night-stand and my body on a riot for being denied its needs, I came to the most jarring realization of all –

_I have never received one. _As in… a _kiss_. How in the Maker’s name was that possible? It seemed inconceivable to me. According to Leliana, Selkie must be somewhat close to twenty-and-five, give or take a year. Raised in rowdy company while keeping a wide-eyed innocence. Twenty-five and never been kissed. Never been held intimately by a man. Untouched. _Maiden_.

The knowledge caused a physical reaction I reviled myself for. I grew hard. Painfully, persistently hard. Not that I hadn’t been in a state of semi-arousal all evening. Maker, what was wrong with me, lusting after an innocent woman like a starved predator? I had always prided myself to be a decent man. One who didn’t objectify women. Treated them with respect and all the decorum they deserved.

Those breasts in that dress, that’s what. Soft and ample. Perfect. As if _made_ to fit into a man’s hand. Every time anyone’s gaze had flickered there, I had felt some disturbing, savage part inside me snarl in jealous anger. And when Dorian had danced with her, kissed her on the cheek afterwards, it had been all I could do not rip her from his grasp. As if I had any right to such possessive behaviour. She was not mine. She wasn’t anyone’s but her own.

But my body didn’t give two hoots about the panicky protests my mind came up with. It clamoured for release from the constant tension, the unsatisfied sexual craving. I wasn’t proud about giving in. Neither could I stop myself. Which was quickly becoming the principal theme to characterize my dealings with the silent sorceress. I kept overstepping my bounds. Taking shameless liberties. Then again, I already lived in my personal purgatory. What was one more transgression? It took less than a minute.

“Cullen.” I was roused from my dangerous excursion into memory by Leliana’s voice. She walked across the courtyard to join me, making me realize that I had long dismissed the engineer after he’d been done with his explanation. I had no idea how much time I’d spent just standing there, looking into space blankly.

“Leliana.”, I acknowledged her, mastering myself. If she caught even one whiff of my secret attraction, I would never have a moment’s peace from her. She came to a halt beside me.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.”, I answered as she surveyed the tents put up by the healers to house our injured. The infirmary was still under construction. “Is this about dispatching our forces to the Approach? They will be ready the moment Alec returns from Crestwood.”

“Harding has already made landfall in the desert. She’ll expect the Inquisitor. I suspect he won’t even take a day here at Skyhold before he sets out again. His messages sounded urgent and troubled. We’ll know more when he returns.”, Leliana said pensively. “But that was not what I wanted to talk about.”

This should be interesting. She considered for a moment longer.

“When Selkie arrived here, you were the first one she spoke to, yes?” The question successfully blindsided me. I had expected her to ask anything but that.

“I – yes. I wanted to make sure she was not a danger to us. Why do you –“

“Yes, I read your report. Did you see the tattoos?”, Leliana demanded abruptly. This was not a random interrogation. She had come to me with a purpose. I had seen the tattoos. But that moment had been so strange, so peculiarly… private. As if she’d shown me something very personal.

“I saw them. I asked her if she had received training to ward off possession and…”, I began, but Leliana cut me short again.

“And you didn’t think of including such a thing in your report? Did you think it a minor detail?” Her tone was so sharp and intense, it startled me.

“It was a trying day. And a trying conversation, for us both, I imagine. In all the commotion, I –“, I attempted to defend myself, but knew that she had a right to be irate with me. Keeping information from her was a grave mistake. Damn it.

“I am only as good as my sources of intelligence, Cullen. You slipped up. You found a mage who has a way of defence against possession we have never seen, and you _didn’t tell me_.” Her voice was more imperious than a judge convicting a criminal. A long, supremely uncomfortable silence followed before she spoke again.

“I saw them too, often. When her sleeves slipped. Tattoos are more common among sea-faring folk. But before Satinalia, I never thought much about it. Until I saw the true extent of them.” She gave me a pointed look. “The ink is not just on her arms. It covers her entire back. So, intrigued, I consulted a Rivaini tattoo artist who explained the process to me, and also how to recognize the age of a tattoo.”

The question how exactly she had seen this crossed my mind, but of course I couldn’t ask that. I waited for her to continue, but she stared ahead in concentration for a small eternity.

“First of all, it must have been painful. A real, permanent tattoo is different from war paint. The special ink is pricked beneath the skin with a needle. Not too deep, not too shallow. Always painful.”, she said at length. “Secondly… and this is even more interesting – Selkie’s tattoos are _old_. Over a decade old. She must have still been a girl when they were stung. Imagine my surprise, now learning that you knew their purpose all along.”

I was assaulted by the implications of what she’d just revealed, including the blame in her last sentence. Magical abilities typically manifest between the age of nine and twelve. Had Selkie received her tattoos as soon as it had become clear that she was a Waterweaver? After sensing the oddly balanced design of her magic, I had not thought much about the tattoos. Now I had to wonder…

“I procured as many texts about the Waterweavers as I could find. There are only a handful of accounts. But all of them describe extensive tattoos, and many speak of a 'ritual of balance'. The translations vary. Do you know what this could mean, Cullen?” Leliana suddenly lost her sharpness with me and became unusually animated, her eyes filled with a near zealous hope. “If we could learn a way to protect our mages against possession – a way that doesn’t require Harrowings or the Rite of Tranquillity? It would change everything. A safe way to live with magic –“

“You get ahead of yourself, Sister Nightingale.”, a different voice interrupted her. I turned my head to see that Solas had stepped up to us, as always looking dignified and entirely enigmatic. His talent to show up unannounced rivalled Leliana’s. I wondered how long he’d been listening in on us. Solas slid a mere glance at me before his attention settled on the spymaster.

“Never make plans based on assumptions. The ritual of balance you speak of is much more complicated than you think.”, the elf said, expression serious. “For all you know, the writing could have been created by blood magic.”

“Was it?!”, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, horrified. Solas threw me a disbelieving look.

“Of course not. I was merely making a point.”, he sighed. “Which is that one should not jump to conclusions before gathering all the facts, not even when the cause is righteous.”

Leliana crossed her arms, levelling him with a shrewd glare. “You knew, too.” Solas was not deterred by her piercing regard.

“I had my suspicions. But I also knew that if you found out, you would want to use it to your advantage. To abolish your Chantry’s barbaric ways of neutering the minds of mages.”

I felt uncomfortable then. The two of them faced off against each other with an intensity that might have made little bolts of lightning crackle between them, judging by the tension that sprung up.

“If you care so deeply about Tranquillity, you should be jumping to any hope of ridding the world of the need for it once and for all.”, Leliana hissed coldly.

“You misunderstand me. I would fully condone getting rid of it. But I have reasons to believe that what has been done to Selkie cannot be replicated as a universal practice.” Solas’ voice stayed calm.

“What do you mean?”, I weighed in, partly out of avid curiosity, partly to defuse the explosive state of affairs by putting myself into the middle as a catalyst. These two had very different views of the world. Things had gotten ugly before, more than once. On most occasions, Josephine handled such disputes, or Alec. Although their forms of diplomacy differed, they were both peacemakers. At least I was good for a distraction, this time. I usually had little enough dealings with Solas myself, and maybe therefore could keep a more professional distance to his ‘opinionated condescension’, as Leliana often referred to it.

“I don’t have much to fall back on, but the ritual of balance is an old practice. Possibly even dating back to the ancient elves. Somebody has written a very piece of themselves onto her skin, painstakingly. A deeply personal reminder how to keep herself stable between this world and the Fade she draws from to control the water. Father to a daughter, I assume. Their spirits touched during the application of the tattoos. Resonated for a time. You cannot just teach it to any mage. Only someone who fully understands the concept could even comprehend the ritual. A Waterweaver, or _perhaps_ a spirit healer. Selkie might be able to replicate it.” He paused shortly, bestowing either of us with a meaningful look.

“But asking a weaver to do something so personal to unfamiliar mages would be like asking a virtuous woman to bed the next stranger coming down the road. It’s beyond audacious. A violation of every private boundary. And besides – the ritual takes a heavy toll. It’s lengthy, draining for both sides. The piece of you given to the other… Is gone, into the pattern. You do not get it back.” 

He fell silent then, and neither Leliana nor I spoke for a long time. Finally, the spymaster let out an exasperated breath.

“If you had told me all of this, we could have avoided a misunderstanding.”, she said grudgingly. Solas’s expression softened just the tiniest bit.

“I know, Leliana. But trust is often difficult to come by. You wish so strongly to change the fates of so many. For the better, but still. I believed you ruthless enough to sacrifice the possibly last remaining wielder of an ancient, beautiful magic for the sake of it. Whenever the weavers surface, someone tries to twist their peaceful spirits for their own use.”

“Well, I am not doing that. The insinuation was untoward. And you’d do well to remember that my true purpose is helping the world to recover from a ground-shaking disaster. Without information, I am blind. Both of you have left me blind in this, not to mention ignorant. Think on that, the next time you keep things from me.”, Leliana reprimanded us severely, before turning on her heel and rushing off, for once not taking care to be subtle about it. Solas let out a fatalistic sigh, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“That went reasonably well. Last time, she threw me out of the Rookery.”, he noted.

“What did you mean by ‘sacrifice’?”, I asked him quietly. His eyes were trained on Leliana’s retreating form for another moment.

“The weavers are pacifists. They avoid violence, chaos, brutality. And this human world has those things in abundance. People just can’t leave well enough alone. Things they don’t understand, they try to change. It is what I told Dorian when he wanted to train Selkie in combat magic. ‘Don’t try to alter her nature. You’ll do more damage than good.’ At least in that, he heeded me.”, he answered at length.

“Do you think that is the reason why she never learned to fight? Neither with weapons, nor with magic, even though she grew up on a ship full of pirates?”, I mused, absent-minded. Solas regarded me thoroughly, longer than felt comfortable.

“The question you should be asking, Commander, is: ‘Has there ever been a ship full of pirates at all?’ Or has there rather been a ship whose crew _appeared_ as pirates, because it served their purpose? To protect a cargo far more precious than gold: A near extinct branch of magic, a rare prey hunted by many across the ages. Even now, the Venatori covet it.”

How perceptive he was. It had never occurred to me to see it that way, although I had questioned the strange un-piraty-ness of Selkie over the weeks. But being presented with this suggestion, I felt a distinct chill travel down my spine. He could very well be right.

“Which school of magic would waterweaving belong to?”, I posed a question I had deliberated for quite some time. To my surprise, Solas let out a quiet laugh.

“It is difficult to categorize a thing I believe descendant from a time when such categories did not exist. For the greater part, I would put it into Creation. The reading of auras though… would be Spirit.”

My face must have betrayed me, because he eyed me curiously.

“I see. She told you about that ability already. Interesting… but I suppose it makes a certain kind of sense.” He murmured the last thing under his breath.

“I’m sorry?”, I blurted. Solas averted his gaze, inscrutable.

“Just an errant thought. I should be going. Alec asked me to accompany him to the Approach. Something strange is afoot there. I’ll leave you to it, Commander.”, he concluded quietly, inclining his head in a gesture of politeness. Or dismissal. I was never sure which one when it came to him.

* * *

The light shed unto some of Selkie’s mysteries would have occupied me enough to breach the subject to her. But the same evening, Alec returned from Crestwood with dire news. In his urgent missive, he had only disclosed as much as ordering troops to be readied for establishing a foothold in the Western Approach, which we had hurried to do.

Alec didn’t even change out of his riding attire before calling the war council. What he explained to us, his face pale and weary, shocked us all to the core. The Wardens, tricked through the Calling controlled by Corypheus, were intending to summon a demon army against the Blight they believed would kill them all otherwise. A demon army to end all Blights. I had never believed desperation would drive them into such insanity. Neither could Leliana or Jospehine, it seemed. They wore identical expressions of stunned horror as Alec, Hawke and Stroud explained everything.

Plans were drawn up to investigate Warden activity. I didn’t like Alec’s intention to set out into the desert with a small force first. The Approach was badly mapped out and harboured many more dangers than Wardens gone rogue, even with Harding’s expertise at sweeping the area ahead of time.

My duties increased to a strenuous amount in the following month. Alec left after only a night’s rest, taking Solas, the Bull and Warden Blackwall with him. They required a week of hard riding to even reach the edge of the desert. The troops I sent after them would need enough supplies, and they’d move more slowly. I drew up plans for dispatches, prepared them as best as I could. I met with Leliana to coordinate with the movements of her scouts. In the wake of all the activity and responsibilities, she set her earlier anger at me aside. Urgency made us work together tirelessly in this critical phase.

The only problem was that my headaches hit in full force, battering me with agony every day. I feared I was reaching a dangerous phase in my endeavour, made worse by the constant stress. I kept my nightmares at bay with exhaustion and sleeping little, but that led to me dozing off several times a day over my desk. It had happened before, but now it became somewhat of a habit.

I suspected that my increasing consumption of black tea to keep me awake had grown into a full-out compulsion (which the maids frowned upon), but there was often a freshly brewed cup waiting for me on my desk. It tasted sweeter sometimes, seasoned with honey perhaps to dampen the bitterness. I should have recognized the change, but I guess my mind was too occupied. And it helped my headaches a little, which I didn’t question at the time.

This penchant of nodding off made me miss Selkie’s delivery runs several times. She came and went so quietly, never waking me. But I would always find the missives neatly arranged on my desk, and somehow everything looked a little less chaotic afterwards.

It took me three weeks to realize the obvious. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when a dagger of pain slashed through my temple, rousing me with a jolt. Gasping, I gripped the side of my head and let out a string of curses. Across my desk, a blurred shape jumped back, making no sound. Something splashed down onto my workplace, splattering correspondences, papers, blueprints. Water. Boiling hot water. And the shape – Selkie, standing with her arm extended and her eyes wide. I blinked the last remnants of haziness from my vision, but the headache throbbed along my right side, down my neck to the back of my skull. My every heartbeat seemed to send shards of agony into the smarting nerve endings.

In my periphery, I saw Selkie hastily sign her apology, before she waved her hand in a fluent motion. The water she had spilled seeped out of the parchments, floated up from the table’s surface. A few errant drops which had reached my armour now separated from it, hovering away. When she was done with extracting all moisture, she dismissed the spoilage into a nearby empty bucket.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to startle you.”, I said tightly, then wondered what exactly she was doing that I had brought to such an abrupt end. My gaze fell onto the oak surface of my desk, where an empty cup sat beside two little tea bags, and then to the fireplace. A water pot hung above the flames, issuing wisps of steam. Suddenly I understood. And was utterly stunned.

“Where you… making me tea?”

Selkie pulled her shoulders straight, avoiding my eyes. Her fingers fidgeted restlessly with the long, loose sleeves of her shirt. She wore the expression of a scolded youngster who’d been caught doing something forbidden. But only for a moment. Then, she tossed her proud little chin and looked at me directly, nodding. I smiled despite the agony in my head, hoping it didn’t come out as more of a grimace.

“You didn’t have to take the trouble.”, I said, my voice inadvertently soft. I had the impression that some colour rose to her cheeks, but I couldn’t be sure in the waning light of the candelabras.

“I know I didn’t _have_ to. But I wished to, and so I shall.”, she signed, imitating my exact intonation when I’d spoken those very same words. To this day, I cannot quite explain how Selkie expressed herself so well through the sign language. Talent, or meticulous practice, or some other unknown means. She simply did. I felt rather flattered that she remembered things I’d said some dozen weeks ago.

“You have been doing this for some time, haven’t you?”, I asked further, rubbing my temple in consternation. Maker, it was as if a drill tried to force its way through the bones of my skull. She inclined her head in affirmation. I examined the two little bags beside the teacup. One was filled with ground black tea leaves, emitting their distinct bitter smell. But the second one… was unfamiliar. I had only ever used the first type. Inspecting the contents more closely, I caught a faint, marshy scent, mingling with something sharp and aromatic. Ginger?

“You haven’t been slowly poisoning me, have you?” I thought the joke was implied in my arch tone, but Selkie looked scandalized. She signed a heated denial.

“No! It’s spindleweed, with ginger root. I know it’s an unusual combination, but they do well together. Ariu made it for Matthias. He was sometimes plagued by headaches.”

I stayed silent for a time as she resumed preparing the tea. I could have done it myself. I probably should have, but… When had anyone taken care of me, even with such a simple, small kindness? A strange hum seemed to build in my chest, as though some large cat had rolled up there and stared purring its contentment.

I watched her hands place the herb bags in the cup. Observed her as she carefully weaved ounces of hot water from the pot, until the cup was full and steaming fragrantly. It was fascinating – I mourned the moment when she'd be finished. But it hadn’t escaped my notice that Selkie had not once gone anywhere near the fire beneath the mantle. I thanked her while we waited for the leaves to unfold their aroma. She surveyed me, her sapphire eyes pensive.

“You are in pain.” There was something distinctly accusatory in her frown. I sighed.

“Is it that obvious?” I had thought I’d been hiding it pretty well. But her gaze told me that she, at least, had not been fooled. Before she answered, Selkie pushed the cup a few inches towards me, and I took a cautious sip. I’d known it had tasted a bit odd for a while. It wasn’t bad, only… peculiar. Spindleweed is often used as a painkiller when elfroot is not quite enough, yet I had never seen its leaves used in making tea.

“Not to everyone, I think.”, Selkie signed eventually. Her eyes sought out the lyrium container on my desk, buried beneath parchments and maps. “There are days when _that_ calls to you more strongly. It finds you more easily when you are tired.”

“There is no deceiving you, sorceress.” The private nickname had slipped out without my permission. Not good. My pain made me feverish, delirious. Impairing my judgement. Her face went blank with astonishment, but the compulsive way I massaged my head seemed to draw her attention. She stepped around the desk cautiously, coming closer, close enough so I could have reached out and touched her.

“I have been pushing myself.”, I said, just to distract myself from her proximity. “But… the things have to be done.”

“Do they?”, Selkie questioned thoughtfully. Then she shook her head an exhaled a breath. It was a sound of saddened resignation, as though she accepted my obstinacy in this matter, while at the same time she silently disagreed with me. It made me feel a strange kind of shame. I bristled at the thought of having disappointed her.

“It is bad today. The pain. I might be able to help.”, she surprised me by signing.

“How?” To be honest, I didn’t care if she began sacrificing roosters to some pagan god, if it would make the pain stop. I asked more out of curiosity. Selkie inclined her head, deliberating.

“I learned it from my father. It’s a simple little trick. Find the source of the pain and loosen its hold.”

“Through magic?”, I wondered further. She gave a delicate half-shrug.

“In a way. You call things ‘magic’ which we would usually call ‘intuition’, or ‘qai’. They aren’t quite the same. I am not sure if this is your kind of magic.”, she explained, making me smile a bit at the expression ‘Your kind of magic’. “I understand if you would rather not try it.”

“No, it’s – that is not why I asked.”, I hurried to prevent a misunderstanding. But I realized that the only way to truly prove that I trusted her was to allow her leeway in this.

“What do I do?”

Selkie looked surprised by my easy acceptance of her performing ‘something that might be magic’ on me, but quickly caught herself. I watched her gingerly rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, which gave me an unimpeded view of the tattoos on her arms for the first time in many weeks. The dark, swirling patterns were strangely graceful, beginning at her slender wrists and winding all the way to the elbow, where they disappeared beneath the white fabric.

I knew now that they went up her arm and along her entire back, as Leliana had told me. The contrast of the midnight blue ink against her fair skin looked even more exotic now than the first time. She secured the sleeves at her elbows, eyeing my reaction, maybe checking if the sight repulsed me. It didn’t. It mesmerized me.

“Lean back comfortably.”, she instructed me, taking care to make her signs clearly readable. “You will need to remove your gloves, or at least one. Then put your hand on my arm, here.” She demonstrated what I should do by touching the tattoos with her own hand, then went on explaining the process.

“I have to touch you to find the pain. Is that alright?” I found it odd that she asked me this, but her eyes held mine intently until I nodded. It seemed important to her that she didn’t do anything I would find intrusive. Strange, that she’d worry so about overstepping private boundaries. In the short time it took me to remove my gloves, I had to ask myself if I had given her reason to think that I would dislike her touch. The notion troubled me deeply.

“It’s alright, Selkie.” I felt the need to voice this reassurance aloud as I leaned back in my chair. Selkie gave a short nod. Then her body tilted towards mine, her hand lifted, reaching for my face. For a mad, vivid instant, the thought of her kissing me like this flashed through my mind. It could have as well been what she intended to do. Maybe we shared the thought, because her fingers twitched, and it seemed as though she wanted to pull back for a second. But then they settled onto my throbbing temple. Cool, delicate. And so gentle. This alone might have lessened my pain.

Still, I followed her instruction and touched the tattoos as she had shown me. My fingers encircled her forearm. Their tips touched, my palm flattening against the smooth, inked skin. I don’t think I can rightly describe the sensation. I felt… magic, but not a spell in the narrow sense of the word. A spell is a complex thing, a thing that has theory and calculation behind it. Birthed from the conscious thoughts of a human mind.

This was, as Selkie had said, _intuitive_. More than a touch. Far beyond that. I can’t say how, but I felt her reach for my pain as her eyes fluttered shut and a frown of concentration puckered her brow. She was close, not so many inches away. Her breathing attuned to mine, or maybe mine did to hers, just as it had back in the garden behind the arbour. But she was also _with me_ in a much less physical way, as if her consciousness lapped against mine, hovering just above the surface. I shuddered, not with discomfort. But with enjoyment.

Her fingers feathered over my skin in the mere suggestion of a touch, searching, purposeful. She stopped at certain places – seemingly arbitrarily – to apply a sudden, strong pressure. I didn’t expect that. A bolt of agony nearly wrecked me the first time she did this. I might have shouted out for her to stop, had the pressure not alleviated the hurt almost as soon as it began. Loosening pain’s hold, unravelling it.

My eyes closed on their own accord, my head falling back against the chair. Selkie continued her journey, down the edge of my jaw and behind my ear, to knots of tension at the back of my neck. Each time she pushed down on an area, her breath hitched a little as though she felt an echo of the evanescing pain, then quieted again. A conscious effort. My hand kept grasping her forearm like a lifeline, unwilling to break the connection, half-fearing that if I let go, the sharp pangs would return.

Selkie didn’t seem to mind. With each touch, each pressure point, the headache faded further away. If I had been a less disciplined man, I might have wept with relief. She finished her ministrations with a last tangled node between my shoulder and my spine, before bringing her hand back the way she had come. For a brief instant, she let it rest against the side of my neck fully. Cooling the heated skin.

“Maker… That feels wonderful.”, I spoke my thoughts without reservation. What she’d done had mellowed me completely. Reduced me to a boneless, complacent mass. A horde of assassins could have barged into the room and I wouldn’t have moved a muscle. Well, maybe in that case I would have. But anything short of that… I wanted to cry out in denial when Selkie pulled away from me, but in the end, I let go of her arm. With great reluctance. Opening my eyes, I found her leaned against the edge of my desk, smiling gently at me.

“Please tell me it won’t come back again. Merciful Andraste, I don’t remember the last time I felt no pain in my head at all… I don’t know how to thank you.” My words came out more intense than I’d meant them to, but at that moment I really didn’t care. She couldn’t know what a priceless gift she had just given me.

“You are welcome.”, Selkie signed, blushing at my praise. But I noticed that the skin around her remarkable eyes had gone white with exertion, tiny beads of moisture gathering at her hairline. This process must have been exhausting for her. Her hands trembled just the slightest bit.

“It won’t come back. Not today, anyway. But sooner or later… I am afraid it is only a temporary relief.”

She rubbed her eyes wearily, making me frown. I had the impression that calling this a ‘simple little trick’ had been a lie on her part.

“This cost you more energy than you let on.” It wasn’t a question. My next words might have held more of an edge than I intended.

“If I had known that this would take such a toll on you –“

“Don’t do that.”, she cut me short, passionately enough to give me pause.

“I – What?”, I fumbled for words, suddenly confused.

“Don’t always… _regret_. It poisons the moment of peace I offered, and takes away from its value. There is no selfishness in accepting the help that is freely given. No shame, either.” I could only stare at her hands, speechless as I perceived the words they formed. Maker, she knew me so well… It was almost frightening.

“If I promise you that I won’t regret... would you answer a question for me?”, I asked softly.

“Only you would expect regret to obey you when you tell it not to come calling.”, Selkie signed, throwing me a humorous kind of look. “But of course, you can ask.”

My hand lifted in a mere impulse, fingertips coming to rest on an elaborate vine meandering up her arm. I had seen her flinch from others when they’d touched the ink, even with fabric in between. She didn’t flinch from me, but merely gazed at my hand with a mystified expression on her face, as though she had never seen such a thing before.

“Were you ever truly a pirate?”

A long time passed before she answered. She kept her gaze fixed on the point where we touched, while a wide array of emotions fleeted across her lovely face. Anxiety was among them. A tired sadness. A frustrated anger. And… guilt? At last, Selkie shook her head. She didn’t seem inclined to break the connection between us. Instead of signing, she met my eyes and her lips formed three words I understood as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud:

“I am sorry.”

“The Tidedancer… its purpose was to protect you. You and Ariu. The last Waterweavers.”, I hazarded. She heaved a sigh and nodded in confirmation. This time, she did lift her arms to sign. The sense of loss I felt was close to painful.

“I don’t know if we are the last. _Were_… the last. We never found more. Now I am the only one left.”

The urge to take her into my arms, to make the abject loneliness in her eyes disappear, flared with such force it nearly overwhelmed me. The only thing keeping me back was my own uncertainty. Did she even want to be comforted? Did she still mourn? Or did she only wish to forget what had happened, leaving that life well behind her?

Sadly, there are no rules of conduct for grief. You cannot study how to give solace in the way you learn wielding a blade, or a shield. Consolation was so far beyond my expertise, I had no confidence at all. My first Knight-Captain’s words came back to me: _Do a thing right, or don’t do it at all_. I was more likely to botch it up by saying something wrong.

“Why was it necessary?”, I asked instead, keeping my voice gentle.

“The past has taught us some harsh lessons.”, she answered wearily. “Trusting outsiders… Usually not a good option.” I had the odd feeling that she wanted to tell me more, but something held her back. Her eyes flickered hesitantly to my face, searching for the answer to a question I didn’t know. 

“Do you still think so, now?”

A smile toyed with the corners of her bow-shaped lips then. Her reply was decisive and swift.

“No. I trust you.” I was still trying to puzzle out if she meant me, specifically, or the Inquisition as a whole, when Selkie rose from her perch at the desk’s edge in a fluent motion. Her movements were only slightly wooden, but the toll her procedure had taken was still visible to me. My jaw clenched against my will.

“Remember your promise. No regret. I will be fine.”, she signed with a pointed look. “The ‘blue song’ is not the only reason for your headaches. You carry too much weight. You should rest more.” 

After the door had fallen shut behind her, I couldn’t help but think that behind her calm and quiet demeanour, she harboured the steely core of a decidedly stubborn woman.


	14. XIV. Sanity's Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I got so many kudos after the last chapter, I was literally speechless! :O <3 Thank you all!  
Please feel free to visit my [Writing Inspiration Board on Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.at/merryminstrel/writing-inspiration/). I'm constantly adding more to it as I look for inspiration.  
So, this chapter is the very definition of bad timing (and "idiots in love") :x I always wanted to write a scene like this. Hope it came out alright...  
Also, the scene at the very end with Cole is one of my absolute favorites - he's just so precious <3. Have fuuuun!

### XIV. Sanity’s Edge

_The Weaver_

* * *

When Alec returned from his first dangerous excursion to the Western Approach, the tidings he brought back were grave. The details of the Grey Warden’s insane plan spread through the keep more quickly than wildfire. For days, it was the only thing people spoke about. Understandably, they were shocked to the core, and although very few understood the exact circumstances clearly, they all reacted with the same horror.

The Wardens had been a shield against the Blight’s grasp for a time immemorial. Tricked by Corypheus, they had allied themselves with the hated Venatori in their desperation, bound themselves to demons in order to overcome certain destruction by the next Blight. Many of the inner circle expressed different opinions on this misguided plan, ranging from revulsion to the wish of saving those who had stood against the abyss for so many centuries without wavering.

All plans for the ball at the Winter Palace were put on hold, and immediate preparations began to assault the fortress of Adamant. Everyone, including the usually light-hearted Inquisitor, walked around with a permanent frown of worry on their faces. The pressure was all around, palpable in their agitated, serious auras.

Constant messages went back and forth between the advisors, even though they met daily to discuss the coming attack in the war room. Aside from Alec, the bulk of the strain fell on Cullen’s shoulders. He was the general, the highest-ranking military man who planned tirelessly how the troops would be deployed.

Our evening conversations stopped entirely for a time as he poured over maps of the Approach, made notes on his layout plans of the fortress until late into the night. Or sat in session with his captains, Leliana and Alec. Every day, until the moon was high in the sky. His single-minded dedication was as much awe-striking as it was troubling to me. He seemed like a man obsessed. I knew his lyrium withdrawal symptoms were reaching their peak, and the state he was in told me he hadn’t passed the hurdle yet.

Over the weeks, I had secretly tried to lighten his burdens with small gestures. I knew Cullen well enough to understand that his pride didn’t allow him to openly ask for help. He was stubborn that way. That was why I had offered to relieve his headache the other night – and been so surprised when he had accepted my help. My memory of untangling the knotted tension in his muscles was still fresh. Naturally, I hadn’t told him how much I had learned about his condition through those touches. He’d have brushed it off and gone on to suffer in silence.

But things had deteriorated further since then. Now, Cullen looked dead on his feet most of the time, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening with every passing day. Face pale, noble brow furrowed with lines I feared to be permanent after all of this. How much more until he would crack beneath the pressure? He must have been sleeping even less than before, but he just kept going, pushing himself well past every conceivable limit.

Alec noticed it too, although he didn’t say anything at first. But I saw the worry for his friend grow in the days leading up to the morning when they would all leave for Adamant. Until finally, he seemed unable to keep silent any longer.

I entered the war room with an urgent message to the Inquisitor, about a week before their departure, to find Leliana and Josie hurrying past me. While Josie’s face was stricken with discomfort, Leliana’s had assumed a grim, deadpan look. The sound of the door falling shut behind them echoed ominously in the laden silence. Cullen and Alec stood facing each other across the war table, both of them scowling, their stances stiff and hostile.

“You don’t trust me to know my limits?”, Cullen demanded sharply, almost defiantly. I had never heard him speak that way to Alec, and I had half a mind to just turn around and flee. The Inquisitor’s commanding voice rooted in place.

“No. You stay.”

“Don’t drag her into this.”, Cullen fairly growled. Alec’s eyes glinted with enough edge to slice stone. But there was also a profound knowledge in them that frightened me.

“She is the best judge of character I have in this matter, so yes, I will drag her into this. By Andraste’s mercy… Not trust you? I trust you with my life! But I don’t trust you with _yours_! You told me you’d take things easy if it becomes too much. You didn’t. You’re not taking care of yourself as you promised me. You’re half corpse at this point!” I had no inkling how this argument had started, but felt strong sympathy for the other advisors. Wishing I could abscond as well.

“Our assault on Adamant cannot fail. If Corypheus –“, Cullen began, pulling his shoulders straight, although the fatigue was evident by the sallow tint to his face.

“Fuck that.”, Alec swore fiercely. “What good is winning the battle if my general burns himself to a husk to achieve it? You planned it all. We are ready. No more additional meetings. No more sessions into the morning hours. Selkie! Tell him I’m right!”

Cullen’s imperious gaze swung to me, pinning me down. As did Alec’s. I felt pierced from both sides by two equally searing spears. There seemed to be no air left in the room. And this was a big room.

“He is using you to make a point. I’m fine. I can handle this.”

Alec snorted derisively. I knew that his anger was born from genuine concern, but he wasn’t doing a very good job in communicating his sentiments. Stubborn, prideful men… They rarely ever disagreed, but when they did, it was best to leap out of harm’s way before they locked horns. Antlers. Whichever. Pity I didn’t have that option. Perhaps if I backed away very, very slowly…? 

“You have said that so many times, it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore. I’m fine, you’re fine, we are all just a bunch of fine idiots working ourselves into an early grave! Don’t make me give an order. I don’t _do_ damn orders. Not with my friends. You need to stop. If not for me, then for the others who worry that you are taking on too much.”

As he spoke these words, Alec threw me a keen glance. Cullen’s gaze flickered to mine uncertainly. The exhaustion in his eyes weighed heavily on me, so did the unasked question that lurked behind it. He didn’t have much strength left. It was exceptionally difficult to look back directly at him, but I sensed the necessity. My hands trembled as I signed.

“Go and take some rest.” I had no way of knowing how much my face revealed when I added feelingly: “Please.”

Whatever he saw on my features, it defeated him. His shoulders slumped as he let out a tremendous sigh, all fight gone from him.

“As you wish.”, he said in the voice of a man convicted to face the gallows at dawn. Releasing me from his thorough scrutiny, Cullen walked out of the room without further comment. Silence fell for a minute.

“Thank you.”, Alec said, sounding tired beyond words. I shifted my weight uneasily, sliding a sideways look at him.

“Forgive me for using you to make a point. He was driving me crazy today. There are only so many times someone can tell me ‘I’m fine’ when they are clearly _not_ fine. I know how important our success is. I know how much is at stake. Is it wrong that I want us to emerge from this mess with… _something_ still intact? Our souls, maybe? Our will to live?”, he wondered solemnly. 

I shook my head. No, he was not wrong. Exactly for this reason, he was the leader. Not just because he made the hard decisions and stood by them. But because he fought to preserve the spirit fuelling it all, reminding people that there needed to be something left when the war finally ended. Despite being a nobleman, despite the unimaginable power he wielded, Alec stayed true to what he believed in. I greatly admired him.

“You did the right thing.”, I signed slowly. “He is under so much strain. He grows smaller each day.” I paused for a moment, uncertain if I should add more to it, but then decided that I would.

“Sometimes a friend must speak harsh truths in order to save us from ourselves. You got through to him.”

Alec gave me a very meaningful look, his dark eyes gleaming in the candle-light.

“Actually, I didn’t. Not until you arrived.”, he mused. The corner of his mouth lifted almost lazily when he caught the arrested expression on my face.

“Never worry, Selkie. I can keep a secret. It’s only fair, I suppose… Since you have been keeping mine.”

Overcoming my nervousness about his precious comment, I nodded. He didn’t say it out loud, but I knew. For a moment, Alec let his gaze wander absent-mindedly over the countless little markers planted across the giant map of Thedas.

“Is it difficult?”, I signed reluctantly, bringing his attention back to me. “With everything else going on, you seem to have little time for…” I trailed away. Alec adjusted the collar of his shirt, as he was often wont to do. He smiled rather roguishly.

“At times. But I have some plans. We are going to a ball, after all. When we are finished stopping the demon army of doom. I might even get to steal a dance or two. Among other things.”

My face must have flushed with colour, because he flashed me a wide grin.

“Ever heard the saying ‘You can take a horse to water, but you can’t make a horse drink’? I’m thinking you might actually be up to the task. Even without magic.”

* * *

I wasn’t as confident about Alec’s veiled reassurance, though. The days leading up to the assault on Adamant ticked by so quickly, and although Cullen seemed more rested after being forced into it, the coiled tension in his aura stayed persistent. We spoke little, but I caught flares of some intense emotion in his eyes whenever he looked at me.

Something heated and fierce that made my thoughts burn away from me like dry tinder put to the flames. It could have been anger for all I knew, because I had taken Alec’s side in their argument. But a deep-seated instinct whispered that it might be something entirely different. Nobody had ever looked at me that way. With such silent vehemence. I became a nervous mess around him, even worse than when I had arrived at Skyhold. 

Therefore, it was with some trepidation that I climbed the steps to his study on the night before the scheduled departure. Alec and Leliana had kept me very late, well past midnight, discussing many issues for the time of the Inquisitor’s absence. When Cullen did not answer my first knock, I almost walked away. If it hadn’t been for the low, distressed sound on the other side, I might have just turned around. But I didn’t.

I threw a glance behind me, catching sight of a lone watchman on the adjacent tower-top. Most of the soldiers had already moved to the camps, awaiting their marching orders at dawn. I would later ask myself why I entered. It must have been the horrible, pained groan, uttered in the voice of a man I believed to be indomitable.

That tortured sound did now belong into this world. It was the stuff of nightmares, of beaten animals, of things broken beyond repair. My heart wrenched in my chest with an answering pain, tightly enough to take my breath away. I pushed down the door-handle without hesitation. He had not locked it.

The study almost lay in complete shadow, its only light-source a lone, flickering lamp on Cullen’s desk. No embers in the fireplace. No candelabras lit. I could see his large silhouette as he sat leaned back in his chair, the lines of his face twisted into an expression of torment. His closed lids flickered restlessly, hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to desperately clench something but couldn’t. With the room so dark, I almost stumbled over objects scattering the floor as I tiptoed closer – pieces of armour, discarded carelessly or maybe in a hurry or… in a wild frenzy. An attempt of escaping a cage.

My heartbeat accelerated, thrumming through my veins. _Danger_, it warned me. I had entered into the lair of a wounded beast, not the man I had known for weeks. He was in the grips of a terrible nightmare, his skin coated by a sheen of sweat, the tendons of his neck drawing tight as he tossed his head like a wild stallion trying to break free from invisible bonds.

I was mad to approach him in such a state. He might lash out at me. The strength in those hands could snap my neck within the blink of an eye. I did it anyway, because he made that sound again, the sound that threatened to unstitch the very seams of me. His fear burdened the air, tainting the wonderfully clean, male scent I remembered as if I’d only smelled it yesterday.

I could hardly bear seeing him like this, shackled by terrors I could only guess at, straining helplessly, fighting his demons alone. His qai spewed sickening horrors at me, drenching me with dread. Fear is one of mankind’s oldest emotions. There aren’t many things that can overcome it. Two or three, perhaps. But they can make you forget decent sense and caution, and give you a courage which borders on foolhardiness.

My hand was guided by such a feeling as I reached for Cullen. The wish to help him wake from this nightmare overpowered my fear of getting hurt. For an instant as my fingers touched him, I felt the steely muscles in his arm ripple and lock tight. And the next I knew, I was caught in a brutal grip and thrown backwards onto the table, the impact enough to knock the wind right out of me. My panicked flailing upended the lamp, and I fleetingly heard the glass shatter just as my entire surroundings plunged into blackness.

Cullen squeezed my arm so forcefully, I would have voiced my pain had I been able to. His other hand was around my throat, fingers flexing with scarcely contained lethality. My heart thundered in a deafening staccato, causing my breath to hitch into terrified gasps. Or at least I tried. His body crushed me, the vault of his chest heaving against mine, pushing the air from my lungs.

My legs dangled off the table’s edge, spread wide to accommodate his mortifying intrusion between my thighs. The position was both alarmingly helpless and shockingly intimate. Wanton. I would never forget the way his lean hips had fit into the cradle of mine, nor the coiled power inside his hands. Incapacitated by a bizarre mix of anxiety and arousal, my blood pumped with an irrational, giddy excitement. 

For a mad instant, I wondered if he might actually kill me now, while he held me as one would hold a lover in a heated night of passion. I knew an insane urge to laugh at the irony, but all that came out of my mouth was a breathy, choked sound. Cullen went utterly still above me. His breaths echoed through the silence around us, unbearably loud in the darkness, reverberating within all the empty spaces inside me. Even in my fear, I knew not to fight him. I didn’t have the slightest chance against such raw male strength.

Instead, I forced myself to go lax in his grip. Pliant. Unresisting. With as much tenderness as I managed, I shimmied my free hand between us, splaying my palm over his breastbone. His heart galloped ahead like a winded horse, but my touch did something to him. The sanity he clung to by a tenuous thread became more defined, clearer, as though returning from the haze of rage and fear.

“_You._”, Cullen rasped with a voice not quite his own. He sounded angry, or relieved. Both. Neither. My head was too blank to decide.

“You are late.”, he accused me in a hoarse whisper I felt right down to my core.

_Late_? What? What on earth was happening? Abruptly, he let go of my throat. The crushing grip around my arm softened to a firm, secure hold. I gasped when I felt his face nuzzle into the depths of my hair. He inhaled deeply, making gooseflesh rise everywhere in his breath’s wake. Any coherent thoughts evaporated when his lips brushed over the side of my neck.

“I have lived every possible nightmare.”, Cullen murmured, as though he was confessing grave secrets to my skin. His voice had turned to pure sin. A sensual, low purr that had me vibrating in answer like a tuning fork. “But this dream… What I wouldn’t give to live _this_. Just once.”

Sweet Maker, he thought this was a dream? The lyrium withdrawal made him disoriented, unable to distinguish between sleep and waking. Periods of lost time, a slipping grasp over reality.

Toned muscles flexed against me, sending waves of liquid warmth through my limbs. His hand curled around my thigh, kneading the flesh. Covetous, shameless. Even through the leather, I felt its coolness. It was the only part of him that didn’t burn feverishly hot, a furnace radiating heat and lust. He folded himself around me, encased me within the cage he made with his body. Escaping never even crossed my mind. For the first time in my life, I did not fear the fire. _His_ fire.

“People say I lack imagination. They have no idea.” A self-deprecating edge had entered his tone. His nose skimmed the delicate rim of my ear. A tingling gust of air, a content sigh as his lips grazed my temple. The tiniest flick of a tongue, right at the tip of my eyebrow. He perused me as if I was a delicacy to be savoured, languidly, bite by bite.

I was so _aware_ of him. Even the unshaved bristles on his cheek abrading my skin were almost too much, made me tremble. If he kept this up for much longer, I would shatter. Or melt into a pool on the floor. 

“Lovely, silent sorceress… My pain and my pleasure. My siren song. What would you say if you knew how you torment me? How many times have I imagined bending you over this very desk? Tasting you, so soft and willing beneath me.”

And they called this man taciturn? Dry? Composed? I knew he was hovering at the edge of sanity, not responsible for anything he said or did right now. And if he ever remembered exactly what he’d confessed to me, he wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye. My mind was stunned witless, but my body? My body _sang _in elation. _More_, it kept chanting. _More_. His words, spoken with such unbridled desire, sliced me right through the middle with need. I craved a thing I could not rightly describe, but every last nerve in my body teemed with the anticipation of that elusive something.

“It’s been _so long_… You’d be so tight. Feel so _good_. But even in my dreams, I never go that far. I’m a coward.”

_Tight_. Honeyed heat pooled at the junction of my thighs, an aching emptiness so strong I wanted to keen in frustration. The hard, insistent pressure digging into my soft centre eased it a bit, but it wasn’t enough.

I knew the workings of a man’s body. I’d grown up among men, even seen whores ply their trade once or twice. But to have it happen to me, to feel a man’s arousal grow in response to _me_ – that was something else entirely. No boyish shyness. No wistful daydreams. This was that ‘animal magnetism’ people spoke about in hushed whispers. I hadn’t understood until now. I was being courted, hunted by a side of him he would never have shown me had he been in his right mind.

And I rode the rising tide of pleasure instead of fighting it, as I probably should have. I wanted to be wicked, reckless, daring for once. But he was wrong in one thing. He didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body. He was all sinuous power and iron will.

Instinctively I tightened my legs to feel the shape of him, the potency in his flanks. My fingers bunched into his shirt, pulling him further above me. In my most secret moments, I had imagined embracing his solid strength, feeling his weight blanketing me. Cullen let out a shuddering breath. 

“Maker, don’t let me wake.”, he said before his mouth finally, finally covered mine.

The gentle encounter behind the arbour had been nothing compared to this. He kissed me like a man starved, without moderation or even remote restraint. His tongue swept between my lips in bold, possessive strokes. As if this was his one chance to stake his claim on me, as if he could not afford to lose any ground he gained in this battle. No finesse, no frills, no argument. Just pure passion. _This_ was a true first kiss worthy of the name.

I opened myself to his fierce, searching mouth, chased each lush lap of his tongue with my own, allowed him every freedom he deigned to take. He needed this. And I needed to make him understand that whatever _this_ was, we were in it together.

I didn’t care that my back hurt from lying on the hard table surface. I didn’t even think about where this would ultimately end when he realized he was not dreaming at all. Arching against him, I tried to prolong the kiss, loving the low rumble that came from his chest in response. My arms reached to encircle his neck, fingers threading into his hair. So strange, so soft compared to the rest of him.

I felt him smile against my lips, before he caught the mass of locks at my nape in one large hand. His scent filled my every sense in the comforting darkness, and I hoped I would still carry him on my skin when I left. His fingers ghosted along my hairline in a touch lighter than a butterfly’s wings. I wanted to imprint everything about this fleeting, intense moment onto my memory.

Despite the wild hunger in his kiss, every caress that flowed from his hands was filled with a stunning, tender awe that threatened to unravel me where I lay. My heart ached with it, lending a poignant edge to my untethered desire, tempering it with something softer. Something precious and sweet I had no name for.

He would leave tomorrow. Go into battle hundreds of miles from here, in a place with no water to protect him. Only seas of bone-dry sand. He might not come back. Maker… He might die. The thought pushed a gasp of panic from my lungs, and I pulled my lips away from his, burying my face into the hollow of his throat.

As if I could hide from the inevitable. As if everything would be alright as long as he held me like this, my head gently cradled in his hand, my body surrounded by warm safety. I breathed his earthy fragrance, wishing that I knew the magic of time, if only to make this last longer.

“What is it, sweetheart?”, he asked softly, sensing my anxiety. The endearment made me mourn the brevity of our surreal moment even more. I had no voice to speak my fear out loud. But with my fingers, I wrote the sign for ‘battle’ onto his chest. Two crossed swords. Cullen had always understood me better than most. He understood this too.

“You are worried… I know. I will make sure that we return.”

Before I could react to his words, his entire body went rigid. During their casual ruminations, his fingers had found the uneven little scar at the back of my head. I had slipped on deck once as a child, nearly splitting my skull on the railing. My fathers had been so furious. I’d never told Cullen this story, but he was a clever man. He knew at once that his imagination would not think up such a unique detail. But reality would.

“I’m not dreaming.”, he said in an awful monotone. I was released from his hold so suddenly that I almost bumped my head on the table and gave myself another scar. He took one step away from me, but it might as well have been a thousand.

His qai turned to ice as quickly as though someone had flash-frozen it. I swear, I _felt_ the realization dawn on him, not with my eyes, but with every other sense I possessed. I couldn’t see his face in the absolute darkness. Probably for the better, because judging by his voice he was utterly horrified. Everything about him suddenly screamed _distance_. No. No, no, no! This was wrong!

“I’m awake. And you… you are real. I…” He sounded dazed, repulsed. I crumbled inside. “You didn’t stop me.”

_Of course I didn’t_!, I silently screamed at him, but at the same time I knew that even if I’d been able to communicate at that point, there would have been nothing I could have said to minimize the damage. I was still reeling, dizzy, my mind too sluggish and confused to form rational thoughts. I could still taste his tongue on mine, feel the hard planes of his body moulding to my softer curves. The whole situation had been so… so dreamlike, so illusionary, like something from a wild fantasy –

“_Maker_…”, Cullen gasped into the stillness. I couldn’t bear the regret ringing in that single word.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I fled. Stupid, stupid, stupid! The tears came before I could stop them. I heard him say something as I stumbled over the clutter on the floor, but I didn’t turn back, and he didn’t follow me. Blind to my surroundings, I rushed down the stairs. My boundless shame was only outweighed by the insult to my feelings. That he would regret what had happened so quickly, so intensely, crushing the hopes I had. He had promised me! _No regret_ –

I’d almost made it back to the tavern without being seen, when I was grabbed around the waist by two impossibly big hands. Lifted off my feet, my legs dangling in mid-air as I was hauled away from the tavern door in a very cavalier way.

“Hold your horses, Selkie. What has you all worked up into a squall?”, the Bull’s wall-unit-size form came into view, illuminated by the light from the tavern windows. His piratical features frowned down at me from above while he set me on my feet again. I felt like a child when he handled me so casually. Or a doll.

Rubbing my eyes as quickly as I could to hide my tears, I suppressed a sniff. It didn’t fool him, of course. Very little ever fooled him, with his Ben-Hassrath spy training. Sometimes I wondered if he had some unknown ability to sense people’s qai as I did, but I suspected he was just really good at reading non-verbal signals.

“It’s nothing.”, I signed lamely, making him snort.

“And I’m a blue unicorn shitting rainbows. Here, you look like you need this more than me.”

He lifted a giant tankard off the windowsill, pushing it into my hands. I needed both of them to hold it. Something dubious and likely toxic swirled inside, judging by the feel of the liquid. Not much water in there. I took a tentative sip, and promptly began coughing as the stuff burned its way down my throat. Fresh tears sprang into my eyes. It tasted like acid and fire, only worse. Bull laughed whole-heartedly. 

“You’re such a sorry excuse for a ‘pirate’. What about ‘Yo, ho, and a bottle of rum’? Oh right, Cornwall was stuck-up bastard.” Well, if he put it that way… I handed the tankard back, gesturing that I had enough.

“One of these days, I’ll get you _really_ drunk. Satinalia will pale in comparison. Now sit your perky ass down and at least keep me company. Everyone’s a mess. They keep tensing up like virgins at the first sight of a real dick.”, he commented glumly while I did sit my ass down on a narrow bench.

“Sure, they are well trained. Prepared. Ready to be bloodied. But all the _glaring_. Can’t wait to get it over with already.” I stayed silent. Bull drank, then gazed down at me with some interest.

“Keep your silence, but I can see in the dark. _You’re_ the reason Cullen fights like a mad dog during morning practice. I got pummelled into the dust a few times. Fighting is good to release tension, but… I’ve never seen a man who needs to get _laid_ so badly.” I had flushed so vividly scarlet, I was sure my face glowed in the dark. The Bull leaned in and dropped his voice to a near whisper. Or rather a rumble, deep as it was.

“A little advice for you: Men with such self-discipline on the outside… They secretly fantasize about losing all control. Imagine holding yourself in check all day. What would be more thrilling, than putting yourself at the mercy of two capable hands and… letting go? Just a thought.”

My mouth had gone so dry, I had to swallow several times. Lose all control… They had felt that way, those few scorching minutes. But now…

“I’ll… keep that in mind, Bull.”, I signed clumsily. He threw me a wicked grin.

“I would teach you a thing or two, if you weren’t such a tiny slip of woman. Nice ass, though. And the front… well-stacked. Should fill a man’s hand nicely. Not mine. But Cullen’s? Yep. Count on it.” I punched him in the arm for his insolence, which proved to be completely ineffective, of course. He was solid as a brick wall.

When the door to my tavern room fell shut behind me and I stood alone within the shadows, I realized that I had completely forgotten about the reason why I went to visit Cullen in the first place tonight. I extricated the small pendant from my belt-pouch, looking down at the glass vial as it twinkled in the sparse moonlight. The water within reflected the silvery shine, the faint magic I had sealed inside whispering softly to me.

I had made it for him. Had intended to give it to him before he left. But now… Now it felt like a stupid trinket made by a silly girl who craved a man’s affection in vain. Sighing, I made a fist. My knuckles went white. What was I doing here? What did I hope to achieve?

“You are closing it again.” I didn’t quite flinch when I heard Cole speak from the darkness. I had sensed a faint trace of his presence when I’d entered. My gaze was drawn to his shadowy silhouette beside my bed. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes lambent in the gloom, almost like a cat’s.

“You crack the ice and dive into the water to touch the flame, and it burns you. An old hurt, a new hurt. You are afraid of something. Something that has and has not happened. I don’t understand.”, Cole went on, sounding frustrated as he usually did when he had trouble comprehending human behaviour. I kept looking at him silently.

“You are shutting the door you opened after we met, and I can’t see what makes you afraid. Are we not friends? I want to help my friend.” The injured note in his voice was like a physical punch to the heart. I lifted a hand to my face, realizing that I still held the pendant.

“_Of course we are friends. But…_ _I don’t know how you can help with this_.” My thought was earnest, not hiding the defeat I felt. Dejected, I walked over and slumped down onto the bed. I didn’t even bother to put on my night-shift or pull the blanket over me. Cole stayed beside me, his eyes searching my face.

“I know I can’t make it go away. It’s too big and too deep, like swimming through a great lake, or shouting into a giant cave. It’s older inside him, more solid. Yours moves with you, ebbs and flows. But it’s the same.”, he said softly.

“_What is_?”, I wondered.

“Loneliness. It’s one of the most difficult things to help with. I can make it smaller, sometimes. But not disappear.”

I stayed silent for a time, letting one hand rest palm-up on the mattress. The other was curled to my chest, clutching the pendant.

“_You are leaving too, tomorrow. Everyone is_.”, I thought sadly. Cole bobbed his head and took a breath.

“We go to a dark place. Forgotten fears, festering in a forgotten fortress. But we have to go, to help the Wardens. I hope it’s not too late.”

“_Be careful, Cole. And watch over our friends_.”

“I will.”, he replied quietly.

“_Hold hands for a bit?_”, I asked.

Instead of answering, Cole slid his hand into mine, palm to palm, wrist to wrist. I wrapped my fingers around his. They were cool and oddly smooth, like holding a stone. But his touch gave me comfort, easing me into sleep. It was a thing we did sometimes, a habit that might have felt juvenile if it had been anyone else. But this was Cole. He never judged. Others found him strange, avoided him. He was cryptic, most of the time. But strange? Not to me. People are strange, in ways both brilliant and terrible. Spirits simply _are_.

Tired out by the excitement of the day, I let my lids fall shut. Despite the turmoil of emotions I’d gone through, the most prominent one inside me now was fear that my friends would get hurt. Cole was right. After the loss of my fathers, I had opened the door to my heart again. I’d been wretchedly lonely, a ship adrift on the ocean with no home port. Sails torn, rudder broken. I’d longed for connection, something to anchor to, so I had reached out to the people who sheltered me. They had become friends, confidantes, playmates, mentors. Making my loneliness smaller.

My feelings for Cullen, though… they were much less transparent. Fleeing from the disastrous end of our… encounter had been an instinctive reaction. Self-preservation. But for a few short minutes, I had been bold. Dauntless. Time and time again, I kept playing with fire when it came to him. I couldn’t help myself. He had a way of pulling forth that part of me that was mischievous and daring, a part I had thought lost beneath the waves of the Storm Coast. Sunken together with the Tidedancer.

_Sweetheart._ He had called me sweetheart. I wished there was some way to know, beyond a doubt, that what he had felt when he’d uttered the endearment had been real to him.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or how all of this would play out. Not even if he would return from the battle he was headed to. But he shouldn’t leave for that desolate place without a reminder of home: An ounce of water taken from the wellspring of the Andor. Its crystal-clear rapids travel down the cliffs of the Frostback Mountains, feeding into Lake Calenhad. And from there the waters supply the river Drakon, which runs like a life-giving vein through the Fereldan heartlands, before emptying into the Amaranthine Ocean.

This small ounce would have journeyed across half the world, to join the sea at last. It would take a different course now. I had never written poetry. But this pendant I had made for Cullen was my very own variety of a poem. It carried a simple enchantment. The water would always stay clear and never dry up, not even in the desert.

And within it, I had sealed the words I could not speak aloud.

_Come home safely._


	15. XV. In War, Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay apparently I lied when I said Holly Crown is the longest chapter, because somehow this one is just as long. :D Sorry, sometimes I don't find good points to split it... It's one of the few with both POVs, Cullen has a short part at the beginning, then it's all Selkie's show.  
In case you are wondering, we are about one third into the story. I am following through with the two major events of the mid-game, Adamant and the ball at Halamshiral, before we will veer off into... something else.  
You might have noticed that I like horses, and therefore in LotT I have spared some time to choose horses for some of the Inquisition members. Here's an (incomplete) list:  
Selkie: [Gambit](https://66.media.tumblr.com/fc681b391ee5855a17d8b66f5a8f2f74/tumblr_owkly1AOWL1vchabro1_500.jpg). Dappled grey gelding; adventurous and a bit cocky;  
Cullen: [Shadow](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d8/ef/66/d8ef663df66070328b23ee4b3aa9f871.jpg). Black gelding; competitive, clever;  
Alec: [Argent](https://www.supportemotionalanimal.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/d4567d916ce7bea346043b2cd31a3271--grey-horses-horse-love.jpg). White stallion with faint dapples; intuitive, steady;  
Dorian: [Skystep](https://sbly-web-prod-shareably.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/18132734/horse-17.jpg.webp). Blue roan mare; capricious, proud;  
Varric: [Charger](http://www.guengerich.dk/Billeder/Luxus%20galop2%202012-04-26.jpg). Black pony with white mane; unimpressed, dogged;  
Iron Bull: [Bolt](https://image.jimcdn.com/app/cms/image/transf/dimension=1024x2048:format=jpg/path/s9128db4dc402e052/image/ife49df13396a43de/version/1527209493/image.jpg). dark bay Clydesdale mare, white blaze, white legs; strong, pushy;  
Solas: [Willow](https://66.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m941nki1ZQ1rpx6f8o1_500.jpg). Light bay mare; loyal, tractable;

### XV. In War, Victory

_The Vanguard_

* * *

I was perfectly happy brooding over my own thoughts, when another horse’s snorting roused me. Solas had pulled up his mount to my right side. The elf mustered me for a moment with his usual permeating gaze.

“Commander.”, he said quietly, wrapping the reins around one hand as he handed me something with the other. “I was told to give you this.”

I reached for the small item with genuine curiosity. A tiny, graceful vial, made from translucent glass. It had been filled with a small amount of water, crystal clear and glittering in the sunlight. An unassuming leather band was wrapped around the vial’s slender neck, fashioning it into a simple pendant. For a moment I looked at it, lying there on my palm, and almost felt the cool, gentle touch of her hands on my face.

“The weavers have a very spiritual view of the world. Water is life. Where we go now is a barren, desolate place, fraught with danger. Abandoned by life as it has been abandoned by water. She didn’t ‘say’ much, but I’d make a guess that it’s a… talisman of sorts. There is very faint magic in it. Something personal. I would try not to break it if I were you. It would be a pity.”

I nodded to his words, then pocketed the vial. I didn’t want to put it around my neck in front of Solas and other watching eyes. It felt too private.

My thoughts returned to the mess I had left behind at Skyhold, the woman who probably cursed me for my damn double-standards now. The most horrible thing to admit to myself was that I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened on the night before our departure between me and Selkie. Vivid images of pain and terror had somehow melted into images of her all of a sudden, as they so often did these days. Just the two of us in the silent, silky blackness. A dream I’d had a hundred times, suddenly come alive. I should have known at once that it was not one of the pale delusions I spun up for myself. Reality surpassed my imagination by leaps and bounds.

I remembered the feel of her, the startled compliance of her mouth, the complete lack of resistance in her, the way her body had gone soft and willing beneath mine. She had let me. She hadn’t even attempted to stop me. Why? Why on earth would she do that, after the violent way I had grabbed her? Why had she even approached me? Her instincts were good. She must have known how dangerous it would be.

Perhaps in some very deeply hidden place within me, I knew why. But my shame about having attacked her so callously chased away the small voice that tried to make itself known. Because the memory of my hand around her slender throat still haunted me. I was disgusted with myself. Whenever I thought of what I’d almost done – Maker, sweet Maker, if my sanity had not returned –

_But it had_, some shrewd part of me whispered.

_Not soon enough. It should never have happened like that in the first place_, my conscience argued. _You well-nigh mauled her like a rabid animal._

_But she didn’t resist!_ The rational voice piped up.

I spent the first few days of the march towards Adamant caught in this silent tug-of-war between rationalization and guilt.

It’s difficult to explain the combination of fear and longing Selkie made me feel. Somehow, she embodied all the things I wanted, but didn’t dare to reach for. Equanimity. Acceptance. Softness.

I hadn’t allowed anyone in close since… since before Kinloch. I had left that place of horrors, alone, broken. Zealously convinced never to trust mages again. Fleeing into faith and duty with a blindness that stunned me in hindsight. Faith is meant to be a pillar of strength, a purity we turn to for guidance. It should make us see clearer, not blind us. But I had been ignorant to Meredith’s madness for the longest time. Or maybe unwilling to see it. If I had reacted earlier…

They say the past shapes us, makes us who we are. What did that make me? A man with a long string of regrets whose attempts at bettering the world had mostly ended in disasters, one way or another. I wanted peace, but knew I didn’t deserve it. Not until I had done enough to balance the mistakes of the past. The burnt bridges. The pieces of myself I’d lost along the way. Lives I could not save. Souls I could not protect. Principles I could not keep alive.

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. _

Was I one of them? Would I ever be? 

“Somehow, I hoped you would look a bit less ghoulish after I ordered you to rest.”, Alec’s voice ripped me from my ruminations. He rode up to my right, his white stallion easily matching my Shadow’s lengthened stride. I tossed him a reproachful glare.

“How magnanimous of you. You flatter me, _Your Worship_.”, I replied in a deadly serious tone, knowing how he hated the use of this formal title. Especially from friends. I saw him bristle and curl his lip as though he had glimpsed something revolting by the side of the road.

“Still sore about my trick, are you? At least enough to play the cynicism card.”, Alec observed. I sighed.

“You used a woman to badger me into sleep.”, I reminded him sullenly. It didn’t escape my notice how childish and surly I sounded.

“Selkie is a woman?! Maker’s Breath, alert Leliana and all the agents! They need to spread the word –“

“Very funny, Alec.”, I cut across him with a growl. The Inquisitor squared his shoulders in an attempt to look dignified.

“Alright, I am sorry. Your phrasing just sounded odd. Should it really be ‘_a _woman’, and not ‘_the_ woman’?”, he wondered.

When I refused to react, he went on undeterred: “Yes, I used her. And I would do it again, without remorse. Because she knows a great deal more about your habits than you might think. Leliana once explained this to me: Inside messengers such as Selkie make the best spies. She can move unseen among the highest ranks, and people feel at ease around her. Most forget she is present, because she never speaks. They might let slip many personal things, and not even be aware that she was there to see it. It happened to me quite a few times.”

I mulled this over for a time, before I spoke again. “I don’t forget she is present.” I had the impression that Alec was surveying me, but I kept my eyes firmly on the road ahead.

“No, I don’t believe you do. You trust her. Which is exactly the reason why I – how did you say it? Used her to badger you into sleeping.”

I turned to face him, astonished. “Don’t you believe I trust you, too?” The notion troubled me.

Alec grinned, his teeth flashing. “Certainly. But I’m not the one commanding all your attention when I enter a room. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I get enough attention from the rest of the world right now to last me a lifetime.”

Stunned into silence, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that.

“If you’d had any mental resources left these last weeks, you would have seen how her face pinched up with worry every time you rubbed your eyes from exhaustion.”, Alec said, and there was a distinct hint of accusation in his tone.

“She secretly made me tea with spindleweed and ginger while I slept.” I had no idea why I blurted this out. But my friend didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised.

“Unusual combination. She’s a clever woman. You’re too obstinate to heed reason sometimes. Better to go behind your back than face you head-on.” His implication made me frown at him in consternation.

“You think I’m stubborn?”

He exhaled a breath as though the answer to that question was plain obvious.

“Like a lop-eared mule, concerning certain things. You are also the most dependable man I know. So, let’s not quarrel again any time soon. I think we made the others uncomfortable. Even Leliana looked awkward. Although I confess, I almost enjoyed that part. Never seen _her_ flee the war room before.”

“Neither have I.”, I agreed, sharing his amusement.

Our conversation came to an end then, because we had finally reached the top of the rolling hill we’d been climbing for the last hour. Beyond it, the vast sand dunes of the Western Approach stretched out as far as the eye could see. Distant silhouettes of giant dwarf statues rose against the cloudless blue horizon, half-buried beneath a thousand years worth of sandstorms. A bone-dry, hot wind seemed to be blowing up from the dead valley which lay before us, and the very air flickered with the sun’s heat.

The lay of the land was such that even from the edge of the desert, one could glimpse the Abyssal Reach in the distance, a great black scar bisecting the surface of the earth. There was little beyond the blighted canyon except ashen wastelands and treacherous sulphur pits, spewing poison all year round.

“I know exactly what you are thinking: ‘What a charming sight!’ Wait until you have sand in places where sand should never be.”, Alec observed mildly beside me.

The troops had halted behind us, the procession of our forces reaching half-way down the hill. I looked out over the Inquisition banners, the many silver helmets, the siege equipment at the rear.

For an endless moment, everything felt motionless and silent. Dead. Even the air seemed too still. I didn’t like the strange atmosphere in this place. It was unnatural. No animal sounds, no rushing rivers, no whisper of leaves in the wind. Abandoned by life.

The pendant around my neck quivered ever so slightly, as though the water inside it had moved to bring me back to myself. I forcibly shook off the gloomy thoughts. Shadow mirrored the motion, tossing his head and shifting beneath me.

“At least we will see any approaching threats for miles ahead. At your order, Inquisitor.”, my voice had acquired the edge of command needed for the things to come. Alec kneed his horse forward without further ado. His steady, resolute voice rang out into the stillness of the desert.

“Inquisition, with me! We ride for Adamant!”

And we followed him, as we had sworn to do. 

* * *

_The Weaver_

* * *

Skyhold was empty. Vacant. Void. A large enough force of Inquisition troops had remained to protect the keep from assaults, but compared to the usual numbers, this was a mere skeleton crew. It had bothered me in the beginning, the constant bustle and the people everywhere, throwing their auras around. Now I missed it, terribly. It was too silent with everyone gone, too forlorn. Alec had left, and he had taken the very insides of this place with him. The beating heart of his Inquisition, following him into battle.

Every inner circle member had accompanied him, together with most of the agents, warriors, scouts, mages, healers… Even the horses were gone. There was no Dorian in the library, reading and bickering with the scroll-keepers about their stupid shelf-labelling customs. No Solas in his rotunda, dreaming with the foundations. No Sera playing off-key lute songs that drove me from my room in the afternoons, or led to Maryden to dragging her out by the pointed ear. No Iron Bull, raising drinks with his Chargers and flirting with the kitchen maids. No Varric scribbling letters and manuscripts beside the great hearth in the throne room, playing Wicked Grace and explaining the things of the world to a wide-eyed Cole.

No Blackwall whittling away in the stables, praising me for my ever-increasing riding skills with Gambit. No Cassandra, sharpening her sword beneath the aspen tree, or reading reports while her sighs aligned with the smith’s murmurs in the armoury. Even Vivienne left a vacancy for some reason, her sharp looks and cutting words having grown into another part that made up the whole of Skyhold.

And… No Cullen.

The morning exercises in the courtyard seemed like a vestigial, stripped-down affair to me, even though Guard-Captain Ryker did his best to keep up Cullen’s rigorous training schedules. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t show up two hours after dawn to spar with the Bull, or to inspect the watch rotations on the battlements, or to walk towards the throne room for a war council meeting. The doors to his office stayed closed, as if nobody had ever lived there.

Whenever I couldn’t sleep in these weeks, I roamed the empty keep at night, always winding up in that room in the end. It seemed to me that with each passing day, his lingering presence became fainter as the dust began to pile on the oak surfaces in his study. The chill of winter moved in, the fireplace staying a cold and dormant pile of damp ashes.

At first, I could still catch an elusive trace of his scent, as though he had just left the room a few minutes ago. By the second week, it was gone completely, and I only smelled dust and cold stone and brittle parchment. It made me panic in a way I cannot describe to this day. _He is gone_, my instincts told me. _All you can do is wait. _How I despised being so destitute.

I felt transparent and threadbare during these weeks, faded somehow, a ghost haunting a long-forgotten ruin. I walked the silent halls as soundlessly as ever, with my heartbeat echoing through the hollow emptiness inside me. The absence of everyone made me realize for the first time how much I had gotten used to their closeness, their friendship and support over time. I missed them all, and worried myself sick over any of them getting hurt in the battle.

At least some familiar faces had stayed – Master Dennet still tended the few left-over mounts, my Gambit included. Leliana busied herself with coordinating the messages which constantly came and went through her birds. She updated me on the progress of the troops towards the desert, and tried her best to cheer me up with her own brand of bizarre realism. Or maybe it was optimism, for her standards. We had the numbers. Adamant was an ancient fortress, and our army was state of the art on siege equipment. Chances were good. We were prepared. I knew. I had heard Cullen discuss this with his captains and Alec several times. It still didn’t make my anxiety abate.

Josephine was unfailingly kind, as always. She kept me company in the evenings, and although we never spoke of it directly, I knew we both suffered the same kind of fear in this time. Sometimes, a friend is someone you confide in, allowing you to unburden yourself of misery, or share your joys.

And sometimes, you can sit quietly in a room with a person, never speaking a single word, and still feel completely understood. Comforted by nothing more than the presence of one you hold dear. All the words of a language cannot compensate for that simple silence that rests easily between friends.

And yet, I worried. In my dreams, I relived the horror of drowning with the Tidedancer, only to be thrown into fire and flame afterwards, cycling endlessly between icy water and the scorching smoke in my lungs. I woke from nightmares of death and destruction, of familiar faces distorted by agony as demon claws ripped them apart. I don’t like to remember this time.

When Leliana and Josie informed me that our army had reached the desert, I knew we wouldn’t hear definitive news for the few days during which the actual assault would be launched. I tried to keep my composure, but the two women knew me well by now. They saw the lines on my face, the anxiety I kept at bay, just barely, beyond the precipice. Calm. Balance. It didn’t work. Nothing really worked.

“Do you know what helps when there is nothing else to do but to wait and to hope?”, Leliana asked, her voice gentle. I shook my head.

“Faith.”

I looked at her doubtfully, searching her delicate, fair features. She had once told me that Divine Justinia’s death had made her doubt her faith more than anything else ever had. And still, she prayed every single day. Even in doubt, even in the darkest hour… She still believed. Just like Cullen.

I did go to the shrine of Andraste that evening, and on the evenings which followed. Thoughts about my fathers surfaced from the wounded, far-off place their loss had left in my heart as I sat on one of the stone benches and looked up into the carved face of the holy woman who had once led the faithful. Why had my father not been as strong as the people I had met here? Why had his faith broken and deserted him, while Cullen and Leliana and Cassandra had managed to hold on to theirs even as the world fell apart around them?

I engaged in tedious philosophical musings of this sort, although I had already pondered this a hundred times before. And as always when I thought about the path my fathers had walked, and the path I walked now, I knew an unshakable trepidation, a horrible doubt of my own. So much of what I had been taught had been wrong… And still I held on to that one thing, that one step I couldn’t seem to take… My mind brought back conversations to me, scraps of memory where I had been on the verge, hovering… But I couldn’t take the leap. If they ever found out…

Andraste’s hallowed features seemed to regard me in accusation. She was right to do so. How selfish of me, to wallow in my petty problems now, while the others fought an army of demons in a place abandoned by water, and were possibly giving their lives to protect what they believed in. I bowed my head beneath the scrutiny of the Maker’s bride. And for the first time ever, I prayed.

_Your true faithful fight for peace, for balance, so far away from here… They need you. Protect them, please. Let them be victorious, and safe. Do not let darkness take them after all the hardships they endured. Bring them home. Bring… him… back to me._

He had left before we’d ever gotten a chance to speak about what had happened that night… Perhaps we never would. Perhaps we’d pretend it never happened. Put an unspoken taboo on it and keep it under wraps. I hated that thought. I hated that whenever I remembered his voice, I heard it with that horrible ring of regret now. It left a bitter taste in mouth, like a tonic of rue.

I cursed that damn regret of his while I waited, and waited, and waited. I was angry at him, while simultaneously fear for him drove me mad inside. Maker, had my life ever been so complicated, so overflowing with conflicting emotions, forebodings, uncertainties? No. It had been simple. Easy. And… trivial. Smooth sailing, unchanging.

Had that been better? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about it. Sometimes I was convinced that anything would be preferable to this painful, unappeasable longing, and at other times… I felt more alive than ever before. What had I gotten myself into? And… did I even want to escape?

I was sitting in the chapel a few evenings later when Leliana walked in with a barely contained spring in her step. She held two sheaves of parchment in her hand.

“Selkie, there you are – I looked for you everywhere. I have news.”, she began without preamble, making me jump off the bench as though I’d been electrified. I flew to her side at once.

“Good news, it’s good news – Maker, don’t look at me like that. What on earth were you expecting? Here, read for yourself.” She handed the missives into my shaking hands. My heart was kicking and stuttering in my ribcage, and I tried to calm my breath as I read.

_Nightingale, _

_Our assault on Adamant Fortress was a victory. We breached the gates and I took a small party to clear the ramparts while our main forces fought in the courtyards against the corrupt Wardens and the demon army. We sustained some losses to our troops, but could keep the casualties to a minimum after we convinced the Warden warriors to cease their attacks, and helped the soldiers establish their foothold on the battlements. _

_You’ll get a detailed report once we return, but after we made it to Warden-Commander Clarel, this idiot Tevinter mage Erimond summoned Corypheus’s archdemon to torch our butts, and if that wasn’t enough, the corrupt mages opened a rift to a bring through a fear demon as big as a damn mountain. Cullen held the ground with our soldiers there while I pursued Clarel and Erimond – which then led to some interesting developments. I am sorry to say… Clarel died in the fight against the archdemon. She managed to wound the beast though. Her heroic sacrifice should be commemorated, even after everything. _

_What happened afterwards… I think you’ll want to hear this for yourself, but let me say this… Some of my companions and I had a journey to a place one does not visit physically. We went into the Fade. In the flesh. I regained my memories from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And Stroud… Stroud died a hero, helping us to escape the giant fear demon calling himself Nightmare. I closed the rift, cutting off the demon’s influence and thereby destroying the army Corypheus intended to use to conquer the world. _

_This victory came at a price, but it was a victory. Little is left of the Wardens. My decision to pardon them did not sit right with everyone, but it is my solemn belief that they will learn from their mistake. When I think of Clarel and Stroud – in the end, they were true to the Warden words: _

_In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice. And so it shall be. Let’s hope they don’t get any more crazy ideas like this one anytime soon. Since you asked me to keep an eye out – the Hero of Ferelden was not among the Wardens. Nobody here has seen her. I don’t know if this is good news or bad news. _

I switched to the second page.

_We leave our injured at Griffonwing Keep for the time being, until they are well enough to travel back to the main camp near Skyhold. We lost good men and women here, and I want to honour their deaths once we return. Most of my friends made it with some minor injuries. Cullen, the fool, dislocated a shoulder and kept fighting at the front line, but – quote – he’ll be ‘fine’. Typical._

_The Bull is royally pissed about having been in the Fade. Well, none of us particularly enjoyed that. Varric and Dorian sustained some cuts and bruises, but they were seen to. The others mostly led strike parties against the demons, and nobody was seriously hurt except for Blackwall, who took a demon’s claw to the sword-arm. He was tended to by the healers, though. He fought more fiercely than the others, and I fear all of this has shocked him to the core. Maybe he’ll calm down on the way home. _

_Our troops want to be on their way, and we should be back in Skyhold within a fortnight. I’m glad this is over and done with, my friend. The Orlesian court looks inviting compared to what I went through in the Fade. Wait, don’t tell Josephine I said that. But… Nobody should enter that place the way we did. I… met someone there. But that is a story for when I return. _

_I hope everything is well at home. I miss my bed. I think I will sleep for a week after this. Although I doubt Josephine will keep the horde of nobles wanting an audience at bay for so long. Maker help me. Tell Selkie to ‘accidentally’ lose some of her missives. _

_Returning soon, _

_Inquisitor Alexander Trevelyan _

I slumped back down onto the bench, the tightly wrought tension which had been humming through me for weeks finally abating. They were alive. They were alright. Mostly, at least. I began shivering violently until I quivered like a shorn ram left to winter’s merciless chill. Leliana gently took the letter from my shaking hands, and I felt her reassuring touch on my shoulder. My breath hitched, coming in short, sharp bursts.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, Selkie.”, she said. She was patient with my sudden emotional outbreak. I didn’t cry, but it took several minutes for my heart to calm down from its wild race. For the relief to reach me. For the knowledge to settle in that aye, it would be alright. That night, I finally slept free of the debilitating fears.

The news of the Inquisition’s victory at Adamant set the people who had remained at Skyhold abuzz for days as we prepared the keep for the return of our Inquisitor and his forces. The visiting nobles sent out messages to their contacts, currying favours everywhere to improve our planned visit to the Winter Palace, and they were well-guided by Josephine’s capable hands.

I rode to the outward courier post a hundred times, delivering letters which went to straight Orlesian and Fereldan nobility. And all the while I strained in the saddle, looking for the banners to appear in the valley below Skyhold, watching for horses to round the snowy slopes, listening for the horns which would announce Alec’s return.

The horns sounded exactly two weeks after Alec’s message, on a cool, sunny afternoon while I was saddling Gambit. A cry went up on the battlements, and only moments later, Skyhold’s bells were struck. Once, twice, thrice. Friendly forces inbound.

“Inquisition returns!”, the watchers shouted. Two scouts rode through the main gate into the courtyard, their mounts dancing in circles.

“The Inquisitor returns shortly! They are just rounding the bend in the pass! Look alive!”

The commotion made Gambit chomp at the bit impatiently, tossing his head while the scouts dismounted and hurried towards the throne room to inform Leliana and Josie. People poured from the kitchens, the keep, the tavern, the battlements, flocking into the courtyard. Soldiers lined up to keep a good, wide space cleared as the resounding horns drew closer and closer. Dennet took the reins from me, and I turned to the gate to see Alec ride through, looking majestic and every inch a hero on his tall white stallion in battle-harness.

Cheers erupted all around, every single person crying out their joy at his victorious return. Other riders came at his heels, dozens of horses filling up the courtyard while Alec grinned widely, teeth flashing in the sunlight. It was the biggest uproar I had seen in Skyhold. Suddenly the courtyard was full of more and more people pushing through the gates, and the residents who had waited had to backpaddle up the stairs, and a happy Josephine had to sidle her way between them, and Leliana stood at the top, smiling.

Soldiers greeted their friends, saluted to their returning captains. I caught sight of Cullen among the bustle, sitting steady and sure upon Shadow’s back, as though he had just come back from an inspection down in the valley, and not from a great battle at the other end of the world. He looked a bit overwhelmed by the crowd, pulling constantly on his horse’s reins as he shouted orders to his captains and answered greetings with his own.

I wanted to get to him, but he was far off on the other side of the courtyard, and there were so many people in between. I waved, tried to make myself seen, pushing my way through them, not getting anywhere. From high in the saddle, Cullen seemed to scan the throng thoroughly, his amber gaze searching for something, someone –

“Princess!”, a sudden, jovial cry caught my attention among the hundred other voices, and I turned to see Varric being helped from a horse by Cole. Dorian and the Bull came right on their heels, dismounting in full motion still.

The Bull’s giant battle-mount nearly tripped Dorian’s slender-legged roan, cutting a swath through the crowd like a ship’s bow parting the waters on the sea. Without hesitation, I flung myself at Cole. My other arm went around Dorian, and we were suddenly caught in a three-way hug as I laughed and felt tears sting my eyes at the same time. My heart danced with joy and relief.

“Oh!”, Cole exclaimed in surprise, patting my back gently. Dorian squeezed my shoulder as I let my head fall to his chest, trying to hide my unhinging emotions. He smelled of horses and snow and old books. I had missed them all so much.

“Someone is happy to see us! Oh dear, Selkie. Don’t cry, woman. Maker, did you really have so little faith in us? Don’t be silly.”, Dorian placated, but his voice was not quite as wry as he wished it to be. He sounded decidedly affectionate.

“She was fretting, frightened, forlorn as back in the cave. My friends, come home safely. We’re here.”, Cole explained while I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Aw, Princess. We’d never disappoint you, would we?”, Varric said as I leaned down to hug him too. He ruffled my hair, almost a bit awkwardly. But he smiled a broad smile when I pulled away again, and I beamed at him.

“Oy, Selkie! What about a hug for me? Get over here, girl!”, the Bull boomed, pushing back into our circle after handing the horses over to Dennet. He didn’t wait for my answer, but simply lifted me off my feet with one arm. He turned his head sideways, depositing me onto the impossible width of his shoulder. I would have cried out in surprise if I’d been able to. Suddenly I was above everyone else, with a full view of the crowded commotion in the courtyard. I let out a silent, dizzy giggle.

“Never seen the world from so high up, have you, shorty? Hey, watch the horns!”, he warned before I could clutch the furrowed horns for support. The others chuckled below, greeting the residents, waving to the cheering people. I looked out over the courtyard from my elevated position, over the many heads of both human and horse, the banners blowing in the wind, the shiny helmets being removed, the fists punching the air in gestures of delighted triumph.

“What a spectacle. Look, there’s your knight in shining armour.”, the Bull surveyed, nodding his head at Cullen, who stood on the steps to the upper courtyard with Josie, Leliana and Alec, surrounded by admirers. “He fought something fierce, I can tell you. Broke us a way through the demons together with my Chargers. But still, it was mostly me. _Iron Fucking Bull_! Yeah!”

His incoming Chargers echoed the war cry, and I struggled to keep my balance while laughter bubbled up inside me. The sheer vigour radiating from everyone was contagious, spreading through me like warmth after the endless weeks of numb cold. I cannot quite describe the atmosphere, words do not do it justice. The abundant riptide of life in their auras kept me smiling nonstop, gesturing at the other inner circle members I saw moving among the crowd.

“Hey. He’s looking at you. Don’t miss it.”, the Bull squeezed my leg where he held me steady, and I turned, my gaze seeking out Cullen again. He _was_ looking at me. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face from so far away, but I thought he was giving me that peculiar little scowl as he caught sight of the Bull hoisting me on his shoulder so casually. I lifted my hand, waving at him, smiling without reservation. And as I did, he waved back at once, his features lighting up with an answering smile. In that moment, all was right with the world.

The tumult didn’t die down until well into the evening hours. While the Inquisitor and his advisors were in for a long session in the war room, I sat together with my friends in Herald’s Rest, where every single table and every single chair was occupied, even the ones on the first floor.

The Bull refused to talk about the journey into the Fade, and instead recounted the battle itself from beginning to end. Varric and Dorian supplied the rest, mainly about navigating the Nightmare’s convoluted realm, and being led by something that might have been the Divine’s soul, or perhaps a spirit who reflected her thoughts and beliefs. It was impossible to say what exactly they had encountered there in the Fade. Perhaps it didn’t really matter, in the end.

What mattered was that they had made it back, even though they seemed saddened by Stroud’s loss. But I saw in the way Varric’s features tensed and then relaxed during this part, that he was glad his friend Hawke had not been the one to sacrifice herself. Just the two of us were left at the table after Dorian and the Bull had excused themselves with a very evocative look at each other. I gazed at their retreating backs and caught sight of the Bull resting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, almost gently. Oh, well… That was interesting. And… unexpected.

“Weird, right? Wonder how _that_ works out.”, Varric murmured beside me as though guessing the direction of my thoughts. “In the field, they are always trading jibes… Maybe they’re digging at each other in a less figurative way now. You know what they say… Teasing is a sign of affection.”

I raised my brows at him questioningly, while simultaneously I blushed at his suggestion.

“Do you speak from personal experience?”, I signed, tilting my head. Varric mulled this over, running his thumb over his prominent chin.

“I guess it depends on the couple in question. Hawke and Fenris never teased each other. Then again, Fenris was always such a damn solemn entity. I tried to make him laugh with jokes, but the brooding only intensified. Shit, the elf can brood like nobody’s business. I always wondered if he and Cullen were somehow related… Maybe they studied together at the Academy of Serious Faces.”

I laughed, shaking my head over his jest. He did have a good point there.

“Ever had them hold a competition?”, I wondered.

“Andraste’s tits, no. We’d still be in Kirkwall, waiting who’d come out as the winner.”, he griped, waving the notion off. After a short pause, he threw me a meaningful glance. I shifted on my seat.

“Hawke… she was the only one who could make Fenris laugh, you know. And she suffered because Mister Elf couldn’t get past his issues. Never gave up on him, though.” Varric turned the mug in his hands, the mirth disappearing from his face and making way for an odd severity.

“We do not get to choose who we love.”, I signed cautiously. If I had learned any truth about love, then it was this. My fathers had met by a strange whim of fate. They were so different… Night and day. Two opposites, somehow finding balance in each other. A long and dangerous path lay behind them. And I was straying further and further away from the wisdoms they had intended me never to forget… Because…

“No, Princess. We do not get to choose. I love Hawke. She’s like a sister to me. Is it horrible that I am glad it didn’t have to be her dying in the Fade to give us the time for an escape?”, Varric wondered wearily. I had rarely heard him speak about his feelings with such painful honesty. Gently, I rested my hand on his forearm for a moment and shook my head in denial.

“No. It’s human.”, I told him. He gave a short, not-quite-even laugh.

“I’m not sure I agree. Besides, I’m not human.” Eyeing him sceptically, I arched a brow.

“You also say you are not really dwarven. So what are you, then?”

“In my dreams? Tall and well-endowed. Like a horse.”

Ugh! Maker, I would never get that image out of my head. With a rude gesture towards him, I slapped his arm in rebuke.

“Moron.” I spelled the word out for emphasis, but Varric just laughed again and reached for me, suddenly pulling me sideways along the tavern counter and into a one-armed hug.

“Come here, pirate girl. Yeah, yeah, I missed you too. Speaking of morons, you’re one as well. Have you even talked to him since we’re back?” Huffing as I smoothed my hair, I straightened and made a face at him.

“The Bull is more of a gossip than a fishwife.”, I evaded with a grudge. Varric snorted.

“What else to do on a two-week march? And I wouldn’t have needed him to talk. I have two working eyes, and a colorful imagination to fill in the blind spots. So? You haven’t, right?”, he probed again. I sighed.

“No, I haven’t. And that is all I have to say to that.”, I closed the topic resolutely. Varric gave me a look as though I should take his next words to heart.

“Don’t wait too long. It’s always better to know where you stand than to walk out an eternity on uncertain grounds.”

“I haven’t lost my sea-legs yet. I know my way around uncertain grounds.”, I argued.

“Yeah, you know, you’re just plain weird that way. But it adds to your charm.”, Varric commented, taking a swig of his drink.

The stables had been so empty for weeks, I couldn’t resist visiting the horses, even though it was almost midnight when Varric decided to get some rest. Contrary to the rest of the Inquisition, who’d just arrived from an arduous journey, I was not tired at all. I was wide awake. Dennet and Blackwall were talking in muted voices within the barn, making it easy for me to slip by them into the mews. The animals greeted me with quiet nickers, most of their auras subdued and tired after the long ride.

Some dozed contentedly, leaned against their stall walls, and others had lied down for real on the fresh straw spread out on their booth floors. I petted Skystep, Dorian’s beautiful blue roan for a while, before I moved on to Shadow. The tall, black gelding allowed me to stroke his brow and comb my fingers through his sleek mane, all the while nosing me over as if hunting for any treats I might have hidden in my pockets. When he found none, he bumped me accusingly and began to catch the fabric of my shirt between his lips.

“Aren’t you a trickster? I have nothing for you.”, I mouthed at him soundlessly. I tried to wiggle away, but he just found himself another part of linen to nibble on. Gambit had come to the front of his stall by now, eyeing the happenings jealously.

“Manners, Shadow.”, a deep, familiar voice rooted me to the spot, sending a skitter of awareness down my spine. “Is that how you treat a lady?” I hadn’t heard that voice for weeks. Warm, masculine, and just a little rough. I carefully extricated myself from Shadow’s ministrations, although he kept lipping at my shoulder occasionally.

When I turned, I saw Cullen standing at the rear exit. He’d shed his armour, but still wore the fur-lined cloak around his shoulders. It always made him look more imposing somehow. I swept my gaze carefully over the entirety of his tall frame. He had dislocated a shoulder during the fight, but it seemed to have been set properly by the healers, since he didn’t look uncomfortable or in pain. There were no obvious injuries on him that I could see, although I was sure he had sustained some new scars – knowing him, it would only make sense. The man went into battle fearlessly.

His features were weighed by exhaustion, but it was different from the ancient weariness I had seen in him when he had prepared the assault, working himself into a delirium. His gold-brown eyes surveyed me thoughtfully, with that pervasive precision I would never get quite used to. 

The quiet anger I had nurtured at him over the time of his absence seemed to trickle away from me like water down a drain. I felt only relief that he was alive and well.

“Selkie.”, Cullen said, his voice coloured by an emotion I couldn’t discern. A great variety of expressions fleeted across his face, while I still stood frozen at Shadow’s side, my hands unwilling to form a single word. He came closer, his steps filled with a strange reluctance, as though he didn’t want to startle me. As though I would bolt if he made a sudden move. Why would he think such nonsense? Oh, right. I had bolted the last time…

“It seems months ago that I last saw you.” His words were carefully chosen, which made me sure he had put much thought into what to say. I had thought about it too, but everything I’d had ready somehow evaporated now that he stood within arm’s reach, his closeness overwhelming me. He looked down at me, his features utterly conflicted, as if he fought some inner battle with himself.

“It’s… That is, I – I don’t know what to say…”, Cullen began, then trailed away, issuing a gruff, annoyed sound. The way our encounter had ended still hurt, and my heart ached at the awkwardness between us, yet… I couldn’t abide the distress in his aura. It was all tangled up with contradictions again. Doubt, and… shame. I could hardly bear seeing him suffer because of some convoluted concepts of honour he chained himself with.

He seemed to be waiting for some kind of cue from me, as though I would give him guidance on how to act, maybe draw lines or set up rules of conduct for him. At that moment, I sensed that he wished me to release him from the need for an explanation. And so I did. Sometimes another’s peace of mind is more important than our own. I refused to examine the deeper implication behind that thought.

“You don’t have to.”, I signed at length. “You were… under so much pressure. You were not yourself. Really, don’t worry about it. I just…” I deliberated what to say while Cullen’s eyes searched mine with an unnerving intensity. He looked precisely the same whenever trying to solve a difficult conundrum on one of his tactical maps. A small nick had appeared between his brows.

“I prayed, you know.”, I blurted out, just for the sake of defusing the tension which had started building between us. It was always there. The frown faded from his features, making way for an unguarded bafflement.

“You did?”

I dipped my head in assent, smiling shyly. “I did. I went to the chapel and… Well, I tried to pray. I never have before. It’s always been easier for me to believe in things that are… close, familiar. I don’t understand the Maker… I understand the sea. Its ebb and flow. Its wrath and balance.”

“I know you do. Solas told me the desert would strike you as strange and dangerous, abandoned by water, abandoned by life. It was. You would not have liked it… The desolation, the barren wasteland, the blazing sun burning from the sky. It is not a place where water can survive for long.”, Cullen said regretfully, his gaze trailing into the distance. “I’m glad… that you stayed safe here.” 

It took a moment for me to process his words before I answered, my hands moving tentatively.

“Did he give you the charm?” A lopsided smile toyed around the corner of his mouth then.

“Yes. He was his usual cryptic self about the magic inside it, though… I wanted to ask you… what is it supposed to do?”

I lifted my shoulders for a casual shrug, biting my lip as I surveyed him through lowered lashes. If he didn’t know, I wouldn’t tell him. His gaze dropped to my mouth, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Sorry, I cannot say. Perhaps you can come up with a guess.”, I signed, inwardly gambolling when Cullen summoned that adorable scowl to his face. I had missed it so. Something of my mirth must have shown, because he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“You enjoy keeping me in the dark.”, he murmured, and it didn’t sound like a question. I wondered if he realized the double meaning in his words, the reminder of what had happened between us in the dark on that fateful night.

“Will you at least tell me why you prayed, if you never have before?” His voice was expectant. I took a breath.

“Because it helped, when there was nothing more to do than to wait and hope.”, I repeated what Leliana had told me. Cullen was silent, letting my words sink in.

“I already told Leliana. The next time everyone leaves for a battle or something of the sort, I won’t stay behind. I can’t. It was… horrible. Not knowing.”, I continued stubbornly even as Cullen looked ready to protest.

“Selkie…”, he began, his tone gentle but holding an intractable edge. “You don’t fight. It’s… not your way. Not in your nature. You would be –“

“I don’t have to fight. I’ll stay on the side-lines. But close. Not a world away. I’ll be safe behind our soldiers.”, I interrupted, turning mutinous now – which I regretted at once when I saw him rub his eyes wearily. He let out a sigh, as though resigning himself to some grave defeat.

“I’ll… think on it.”, Cullen said eventually. It was the best I would get from him, I knew. For today, at least. Nodding, I gave Shadow one last pat on the nose. The horse snorted in gratification.

“Thank you.”, I signed afterwards. As I went on, I gave him a long, direct look.

“You should rest. All of this was possible because you put your heart and soul into it, Cullen. You should be proud of yourself. This victory is yours. Commander.”

I executed a perfect salute before bowing profoundly to him. When I straightened again, I saw how his expression derailed entirely. With shameless enjoyment, I watched him lose his composure. The man who made others stand straighter by his mere presence looked struck dumb, his lips parting in shock, eyes going wide. He even blushed. It was delightful.

When I went to bed that night, I decided that I had achieved my own personal victory in the wake of the battle for Adamant.


	16. XVI. Negotiations, Sword-Side Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the sweet comments <3 I really hope I'm not boring you yet, I promise at some point the story pretty much explodes into action. I also hope I'm not keeping you on the tenterhooks for too long with the romance (I know these two dorks take their sweet time), but there are reasons for hesitation on both sides, and not just general awkwardness.  
I have hinted it several times that Selkie is hiding something from the Inquisition - which is seriously difficult, to drop comprehensible hints without revealing too much. But you will soon find out what it is she struggles with. But first, Halamshiral, and Selkie suffering the aftermaths of The Night Before Adamant :x  
Have fun!

### XVI. Negotiations, Sword-Side Up

_The Weaver_

* * *

The Inquisition’s victorious homecoming from Adamant spawned an entire week of elation in Skyhold. Which meant that for seven days, the keep residents, the advisors, the soldiers – everyone was in high spirits. From the loftiest noble lord to the youngest scullery maid, the rush of triumph was felt keenly. I delivered dozens of congratulatory messages, requests for alliances, and many rather personal notes among the inner circle, as well as the to the top of the command chain.

As he’d already announced, Alec took a few days to rest, even though he was constantly besieged by people whenever he so much as took one step out of his quarters. He was a man with a talent for taking things in stride, and he always managed to keep alive the aura of a charismatic leader. He stayed humble, never took sole credit for things, instead deferring to the many people who had helped him achieve his great feats.

But I felt a little sorry for him as well. Constantly under scrutiny from the whole world, constantly needing to appear strong, yet merciful. Capable, yet compassionate. Walking those finely drawn lines the mantle of leadership forced upon him, all the time. Such a challenging life. It must have been tiresome. The more he did to put things right, the more others expected from him, too.

In my position, I couldn’t do much to alleviate his burdens – which irked me almost as much as it always had with Cullen. But I had a few tricks which I sometimes employed to give Alec short reprieves from his demanding schedule. I called him away from discussions with nobles, for example, by pretending I had an urgent missive that needed to be read right away. It usually gave him a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Small comfort, but he seemed grateful for it. We even developed a private joke – when he saw me on delivery runs and he wanted to escape some tedious long discussion, he’d simply call out ‘Ah! My messenger is here. Please excuse me, I await an urgent missive from Lord So-And-So.’

Despite having thwarted Corypheus’s demon army, the Inquisition did not rest upon their laurels. While the military matters centred around stabilizing the Western Approach, Cullen also sent out messages to several footholds in the Exalted Plains, directing forces to help those whose lives had been uprooted by the civil war in Orlais.

Leliana and Josephine put all of their energy into the upcoming visit to the city of Halamshiral, where the Empress of Orlais, Celene, would be holding peace talks with her cousin, the Grand Duke. Both women were on edge. They suspected an assassination attempt on the empress during the ball at the Winter Palace.

Leliana saw all major political players as possible masterminds behind the plan to take Celene out of the picture. Josephine insisted that without the empress as a stabilizing force at the forefront, the nation would fall into chaos – exactly what Corypheus intended to happen.

I had little notion about political matters, but in the time predating the journey to Halamshiral, I learned a great deal about ‘the Game’, the covert war for influence and supremacy among Orlesian nobility – and I bristled at the very thought of it. Masked men and women, hidden agendas, schemes within schemes. This would be a fight of a different sort entirely. Still, I listened carefully to Leliana and Josephine whenever they explained about the pitfalls Alec would face at this grand masquerade.

Appropriate formal attires were ordered for all those who’d be attending, a proper honour guard was planned to escort the Inquisitor and his chosen party. Where Alec had been attending tactical meetings with Cullen before Adamant, he now sat in session with the ambassador and the spymaster for hours, going through guest lists, recent political developments, negotiation techniques… And Maker knew what else.

Determined not to be left behind this time, I deliberately sought out Alec one afternoon in his quarters. My subtle knock was answered by a slightly irritated “Come in, come in!”. After climbing the stairs to the wide master suite, I found him standing in the middle of the room, with an impeccably dressed tailor darting efficiently around him.

Oh. I had interrupted a fitting, it seemed. The black brocade jacket was masterfully embroidered, a wide, elegant pattern running rampant down the centre of the chest. The tailor secured the lapel at the height of Alec’s collarbone, and brushed away the hand surreptitiously sneaking towards the high collar – also inlaid with stitching of the same silver thread.

“No plucking at the finery, Your Worship.”, the man warned sternly, making Alec subside while he went about draping a deep red sash over the shoulder-piece. There was an inexplicable expertise in the way he tied the sash at the waist, then fashioned the rest of the long, sheer fabric into a flawless chinch. The combination of colours, the elegant style (surely Josephine’s choice) – they both benefitted Alec’s sinuous, noble frame.

Still, I couldn’t help but imagine Cullen in that finery – which he would be required to wear, since he was accompanying Alec just like Leliana and Josephine were. The picture caused a rush of heat to flood my face.

“Selkie!”, Alec made me jump guiltily, as though I’d been caught stealing pastries from the cook’s windowsill. “What do you think of this stuff? It was Josie’s idea, of course. I prefer wearing a waistcoat over a shirt, but she said we need to ‘present ourselves as a united front’.”

Shifting on my feet, I ducked my head and nodded distractedly. “Good. Great.”, I emphasized my sign with a sweeping gesture. Alec cocked a brow, giving me a crooked smile.

“Thank you. Although I have a feeling I was not the one on your mind when you answered.”

He surveyed his reflection for a moment, nodding gratefully to the tailor. The master took some last measurements, then wrote something into his small notebook. He disassembled the ensemble into its individual parts again. Alec slipped out of the jacket, readjusting the simple white shirt he’d worn beneath it. He turned to me, surprise showing on his face that I had no message in my hand.

“Hm… You don’t usually visit me without cause. How can I help you, my friend?”, he asked, offering me the seat across his desk. I thanked him, but shook my head.

“I won’t take up much of your time. There is just one small matter I wished to discuss with you.” I paused, deliberating. Alec was looking at me encouragingly. With a deep breath, I went on.

“I had a difficult time while everyone was… gone to Adamant. I know I’m just a messenger… I can’t be useful to you in the field. But sitting here while my friends walk into danger… I just can’t keep on doing that. I would like to accompany your party to the Winter Palace.”, I explained, to which Alec’s features took on an astonished expression.

“That is where you want to go? Into the heart of intrigue, murder and power games? I mean, the food is usually good – those little cakes will hopefully make a comeback this year. But…”

“It’s not about that.”, I signed quickly. “I would have asked no matter where your next greater operation led you to. I just can’t stay behind… Maybe if there is a fight, I could put up some water barriers. I just want to be close. It would make me feel less… useless.”

Alec surveyed me, his dark eyes holding a perceptiveness that always made me a bit nervous.

“I think I understand. We are not bringing an army to the ball, though. And I dearly hope there won’t be much fighting there – although the alternative isn’t very inviting either. I don’t see why you cannot come with us – as long as you stay close to the honour guard and don’t wander off, of course. The only problem is, I think there is no way you could join the actual festivities. The invitations were specific and limited. Orlesian nobility is thorough that way.”, he said regretfully, but I made a placating gesture.

“No, no. That is perfectly alright. I wouldn’t have wanted to be at the ball! That’s no place for the likes of me. I’ll be happy staying with the rest of the procession.”, I hurried to assure him, although he frowned a bit at my words.

“If that is what you wish… Alright. As you know, we will depart at the end of the week. Be sure you are packed for a fortnight of travel. It’s about four days to Halamshiral on horseback – oh, which reminds me. You learned to ride from Dennet, didn’t you?” I nodded vigorously.

“I think I do alright on a horse. Dennet is an efficient teacher. My Gambit and I had a rocky start, but now we have become fast friends.” Alec grinned at me from across his desk.

“Gambit? How did you come up with that name?” 

“After the fire, Dennet asked me to choose a horse for myself. Do you remember that he had a young dappled grey in training? A gelding. It was the horse that got caught behind a burning column and was trapped in the mews.”, I elaborated. “I chose him. Dennet had called him Dapples, before. He asked me if I’d like to rename him. So, he is Gambit. It just seemed fitting.”

To this, Alec chuckled lightly, nodding. “I see. Well, you saved his life, so he better be on his best behaviour.”

I smiled.

“Thank you for allowing me to accompany you. I will be ready when we depart.”

The realization only truly reached me halfway across the courtyard. In a week, I would travel beyond Skyhold’s walls – for the first time since I had arrived here, over three months ago! Alec had said I could accompany them to the ball!

Excitement bubbled up in me, and I could barely keep the spring from my step. It wasn’t that I didn’t like living here – I had become so familiar with the keep by now, it felt like walking the decks of a very solid, very large ship most of the time. And this ship was filled with people I had grown close to, people I worried and cared about, as I had learned in the painful time of their absence.

But the outlook of having an adventure, of seeing new lands I had never visited before – that filled me with a keen anticipation. Travelling open spaces, the wide landscape stretching out beyond the Frostback Mountains, perhaps even seeing the sea from up close again? How could I not be happy about regaining a shred of that freedom?

It wasn’t like I had been allowed to go wherever I wished, ever. But being out on the open ocean most of the time, it just creates a feeling of liberty. I missed the sea terribly, while simultaneously I dreaded ever seeing the dragon ship and its destructive power again. Still, my gait was infused with a certain delight all day, and I fairly danced up the battlements during my evening run.

I almost collided with Cullen, who had just turned the bend on his way down the stairs. Startled, I jumped back, my foot seeking purchase on stone and finding none. Only empty air. A funny thought flashed through my head as I fell backwards – that I couldn’t remember the last time I had tripped. On anything. My arms propelled comically, struggling for balance. Cullen reached for me at once. A hand seized my upper arm, steadying me with next to no effort. His grip was gentle and yet firm, as though he walked around all day, saving clumsy women from falling.

“Careful…”, he murmured. His long fingers flexed experimentally, almost like they were testing the feel of me, the muscles, the bone structure beneath. How small and breakable must I seem to a man of his size? I darted my gaze up his chest, up the alluring slope of his throat, up the defined chin. He had shaved recently. The expression on his face was on some middle-ground between surprised and troubled.

“You are not usually prone to clumsiness.”, Cullen said at length. In the stables when I’d first seen him again, there had been no touching. His proximity now was like an electric current galvanizing me.

He was close enough so I caught a whiff of his spicy-woodsy fragrance, which always led my thoughts down very dangerous roads. Close enough to see the tiny cleft in the middle of his lower lip. I wanted to taste that cleft, dig my tongue into it, once more feel the forbidden things he spoke, slipping over my skin like a caress.

The urge caught me off-guard, and I impulsively bit my lip to quell it. An innocuous gesture, but his gaze homed in on it, tawny lashes lowering over his eyes. In the afternoon sun, they looked as though they’d been dipped in gold. He regarded me with something I can only describe as silent reproach. What could he be thinking? Why did he always seem so conflicted when he looked at me?

We had taken up our evening conversations again, but had both carefully avoided the topic of The (Disastrous) Night Before Adamant. Sometimes I had the impression that the issue stood in the room with us, prowling around like a living, breathing creature whose existence we both categorically ignored. Not speaking about it had done nothing to dampen the magnetic pull, always drawing me to him. If anything, it had become worse. Stronger. A thing of teeth and claws and ravenous hunger. For me, at least.

I wondered if he remembered too. Did he struggle to keep his distance? Had his sinful kiss truly been a lapse of reason? Or did he feel the same inexorable attraction, but was just better at pushing it from his mind? I didn’t know. And I was too much of a coward to ask.

“Selkie…” His voice was more breath than sound, more vibration than volume. My name. Nobody else said it with the same inflection as he did. Intimately, as though it was a term of endearment. Awareness raised the tiny hairs on my nape, gooseflesh spread out from the place where he touched my arm. The treacherous muscle in my chest thrummed erratically, and I could have sworn I heard him take a shallow, uneven breath.

Only when someone cleared their throat behind me did I realize that we were in public, in full view of _everyone_ walking around the courtyard or up on the battlements. Maker, I had forgotten my surroundings completely. Cullen seemed to realize it too, because he quite suddenly let go of me, backing away to put an arm’s length of space between us.

Battling the hot blush on my face, I turned to see Cassandra and Leliana standing at the foot of the stairs. While Cassandra looked consistently stern as always, the spymaster donned a knowing little smirk.

“Pardon us for interrupting.”, Leliana began casually. “Cassandra wanted an update on the red templar rumours coming out of the Emprise du Lion.” Just for the sake of having something to do with my hands, I began rummaging hastily through my message pouch, my fingers clumsy as they dug out the notes addressed to Cullen.

“We could come back later if –“, Cassandra hazarded, but I shook my head, handing Cullen the missives without looking at him.

“Just a moment.”, he said haltingly, his voice betraying nothing of the intense atmosphere a minute earlier. It was a habit of his, always scanning the contents of his messages right away. While he concentrated on that, Leliana threw me an impish wink. I glared at her.

“I’m looking forward to how you will like Halamshiral, Selkie.”, she mused, almost managing to keep the hidden intention from her tone. “I myself am quite excited to be back in the Game. An Orlesian grand ball is considered a dull business, if there aren’t at least a dozen scandalous affairs followed by hasty marriage proposals.”

“You are coming with us?”, Cullen asked, sounding taken aback. I nodded, unsure how to interpret the mix of surprise and covert dismay on his face. He didn’t sound happy with this development, but was trying hard to hide it. It hurt, and abruptly I was irritated with him.

“I am. Alec gave me permission.” My brusque signs – or perhaps my expression – seemed to give him an unmistakable cue that he’d offended me, because his face fell all of a sudden. He looked aghast.

“I – I didn’t mean to… That is – I thought with the Venatori still on the loose –“ I felt a little sorry then, seeing him flustered and scrambling to cut his losses. My too-soft heart made it impossible for me to be mad at this man. I issued a small sigh.

“She will be perfectly safe with our contingent of honour guards, won’t she?”, Leliana interjected pleasantly. “I think it’s high time Selkie saw a bit more of the civilized world. Why start small when you can attend the event of the year – the Empress’ very own ball?” 

“I won’t be _at_ the ball.”, I reminded her. _Which is very fine by me_, I added inwardly, but of course, I didn’t say it out loud.

“Count your blessings that you won’t.”, Cullen echoed my thoughts under his breath, folding up his messages and sliding them into a holder at his belt. His free hand grasped the pommel of his sword a bit too rigidly.

“I heard that.”, Leliana remarked shrewdly. “Peevishness and scowling won’t get you out of this, Cullen. If nothing else, you’ll keep the lord and ladies well occupied.”

“How?”, he asked, his expression turning somewhat cagy.

“Oh, well. There is nothing more compelling to the idle nobility than a brooding, mysterious stranger. If you play your cards right, you might learn some useful things…”, Leliana elaborated innocently, but I didn’t miss the glint in her eye as she threw me a glance.

She was trying to provoke me. And succeeding, void take her. I didn’t want Cullen to be surrounded by twittering, hare-brained beauties hanging on his every word. Eating from the palm of his hand. Batting their eye-lashes at him. The very thought had me seeing red – which probably should have given me pause. This ugly, vicious feeling… Jealousy? That wasn’t like me.

“I’m not bait!”, Cullen burst out indignantly. It seemed he shared my aversion to Leliana’s suggestion. “You can’t dangle me in front of the sharks like – like a piece of meat!”

“Maker, I’ve never known you to be so melodramatic. I’m sure a bit of attention doesn’t merit a comparison to bloodthirsty predators.”, she tilted her head inquiringly towards me. Cullen’s brow was furrowed now, his lips pressed into a severe line of disgruntlement. Maker knew why, but his annoyance was downright delightful.

“I think I would prefer the sharks. They don’t toy with their food… so much.”, I signed. Leliana laughed. Even Cassandra’s martial features softened, the ghost of a smile quirking her lips. Cullen let out a tortured groan.

“Andraste preserve me.”

* * *

All my lessons on dream awareness and keeping myself more-or-less lucid during sleep had one giant, disturbing drawback. For normal people, dreams fade upon waking, blur away into a haze, their details lost to oblivion. Now I remembered everything. The flames leaping around me. The cold depths pulling me down into darkness. The voices of my fathers, reminding me to be wary, be wary all the time.

But those images had become scarcer, drifted farther away, like sharp stones slowly smoothed out by the river of time. Time has a way of calming violent things, cooling them. Nightmares come from fear. I was familiar with fear.

But what visited me almost every night now was no nightmare. It wasn’t even a dream, really. It was my imagination conjuring a fantasy I had only allowed myself to think about in my most private moments. There was something inside me, something that had hibernated all my life. Until _that_ night. Now it was very much awake, refusing to be put back to sleep.

Something wild, made of untamed impulse and desire. It breathed fire into me, burning me from the inside out. His fault, all his fault. When he came into my dreams, I wasn’t water anymore. I was glowing ember, one touch short of being set aflame.

In my dreams, he never hesitated, never held back. He put his hands on me, everywhere I commanded them, anywhere I wanted them. And I kept begging shamelessly for more, because my dreams were the only place where he didn’t deny me anything. 

It is a special kind of torture, wanting something so badly, but being denied and not knowing why. Being close to the one you want, but never finding the courage to reach out. That constant war between need and the fear of rejection. If he wanted me, why had he pulled away? Why did he always retreat?

While I lay awake at night, fantasizing about touching him. With my hands, my mouth, my tongue. Touch. All other senses can satisfy only so much. There comes a point when nothing but touch can suffice. You feel that itch, that constant urge driving you mad. Your sheets strangle you, your clothes are a prison, even your skin too confining, and all you can think about is _his_ skin beneath your fingers, his weight pressing you down into the mattress, his tongue invading your mouth as you buck up against his unyielding strength.

It was obsession, a fever holding me in its grip. My personal delirium, not haunted by demons or horrors, but by a man who had moved into my thoughts, claiming the ground with no intention of leaving. I started touching myself in frustration, in despair, in lust because I could do nothing else. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I was a stranger within my own body. Incomplete somehow, as though he had stolen a part of me and held it hostage now.

Maybe he’ll never give it back. Maybe I’ll walk around vacant and yearning for the rest of my life. Fated to lose pieces of me, like I had lost my voice. Maker, when had I become so prone to maudlin fancies? Then again, when had a man occupied my mind so thoroughly? Never, that’s when.

I cannot explain the reasoning behind my thought, but somehow I was sure if I still had my voice, I wouldn’t be so insecure all the time. My voice was part of my courage. Sign language made me capable of communicating, but it wasn’t enough, not for this… whatever it was I felt for Cullen. Damned attraction. Infatuation. Madness. So aye, this was me, after Adamant. Sleeping little, dreaming a lot, keening silently inside. And still, there was this other doubt, this one nagging thought, this fear… _A thing that has and has not happened_. It felt closer every day, looming. I closed my eyes to it. 

* * *

A week came and went, and we were off to Halamshiral. Besides the honour guard (fifty of the best men, hand-picked by Cullen), our procession consisted of Alec (naturally), all three of his advisors (a unique event, since they rarely left their posts) and several inner circle members (namely Varric, Dorian, the Bull, as well as Cole and Solas if we needed backup). Oh, and me, of course (among a few other messengers and helpers to ease our journey).

My excitement of travelling beyond Skyhold didn’t go unnoticed by Gambit, whose canter was infused with a restless energy as we traversed the mountain pass. I watched my surroundings with an avid curiosity, taking in the many novel impressions around me. Rocky slopes dusted generously with powder-fine snow, impressive pine-trees flanking the road we travelled – with the occasional sentry post signalling us dutifully that everything was clear along the way. It took us several hours to reach the foot of the mountain.

The terrain changed into wide fields of dried-out grass, interrupted by the occasional small stream meandering between bare-branched trees. Cliffs of reddish stone rose in the distance, embraced by the fog rising from a mighty river. There was a certain beauty to it. And yet, I saw many signs that this place suffered from the aftermaths of war. We passed abandoned villages, their brick houses reduced to ruins; lonely scarecrows surrounded by un-reaped wheat, slowly losing its golden hue and turning brown beneath the pale winter sun’s light; barren orchards and far-reaching grass plains, melting into misty forests in the distance.

I caught sight of a wolf statue, enthroned high atop a cliffside, looking out over the ravaged land. Sometimes we came through populated areas, where Inquisition forces had been stationed to help refugees, rebuilding houses and aiding the farmers to cultivate the devastated, burned-down fields. Until the peace talks at the ball were finished, an armistice had been issued to cease all aggression between Celene’s and Gaspard’s forces.

Despite the Inquisition’s efforts, most faces I saw looked haunted, subdued. Their auras were muted little lights, slow to hope for better times, traumatized by war. But still… they carried on. We rode by a sturdy-looking windmill, and I saw a man sitting on a bench outside, sharpening his scythe, a smoking pipe hanging from the corner of his harsh mouth. He watched us pass warily, bushy eyebrows drawn into a frown.

“He came from the south, where the fighting was the worst. Sharp stones, slicing through shoes gone soft from sifting through the marshes. Soldiers fought soldiers, but what did he know about their quarrel? He was just a man working the fields as he’d done all his life. Day in, day out. Then the soldiers were gone and the dead came, shambling between the golden wheat. It’s better now, here. But it’s not right.”, Cole spoke from beside me.

He rode to my left, with Solas on his other side. Cullen and Alec were a few paces ahead, in the lead with the foremost honour guard soldiers. The others were likely at the rear, behind the carriage carrying Leliana and Josephine.

“It’s not difficult to understand that these people have a hard time trusting their ruler right now. The world has gone mad around them.”, Solas remarked reflectively.

“I hope we can help them.”, Cole said, eyes roving over the landscape.

“Sometimes, the best we can do is cut a problem out at its roots, Cole. That is why we go to the negotiations. The civil war needs to end. A nation riddled by inner conflicts is like a wounded creature in the woods. It cannot defend itself.”, Solas explained. Alec turned in the saddle, having listened to the conversation.

“After this, we should look into on those strange rumours about undead rising in the Plains. What do you think, Solas?”, he queried.

“Battlefields are where the Veil is thinnest. So many strong emotions, crowding, seething. Rifts open more easily, I would wager. And with all the bodies everywhere… The demons would have a fertile ground to thrive.”

Seeing my disconcerted expression, Alec frowned at me. “Perhaps it was not such a good idea to bring you. You aren’t used to seeing such things.”

“I’m alright, Alec.”, I signed seriously. “The world is as the world is. I won’t turn a blind eye to it.”

Meeting my clear gaze, he nodded, then turned his attention to the road again.

“You are changing.”, Solas said, his voice muted so I nearly didn’t catch it. He almost sounded a bit melancholic. We rode on, soon leaving the wounded plains behind us.


	17. XVII. Dance of Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, I got a lot again! \o/   
Now, this is the Winter Palace chapter with the events from Selkie's point of view. Again I kept it rather short, but didn't want to leave out a few scenes I had planned, especially that last part. I do a lot of foreshadowing at the end, I realize... But what would a good love story be without a bit of drama! Well, we shall see...   
Have fun reading :)

### XVII. Dance of Chances

_The Weaver_

* * *

Halamshiral was… well, not beautiful per se. Riding in from the Imperial Highway, we crossed several districts populated entirely by elves – Alec and Solas explained to me that the city was the largest permanent dwelling place for elves in all of Thedas. To my question why there were signs of destruction and hasty rebuilding efforts in the lower districts, Solas elaborated that there had been a recent uprising among of the elves against nobility, although he seemed quite certain that the hostilities had been laid to rest some time ago – hence the rebuilding. 

I didn’t get to see much of the lower quarters where the elves lived, except for a few foreign-looking houses and many small plazas with great trees growing in the centre, their branches hung with wooden idols and charms. We quickly ascended towards the High Quarter, with the Winter Palace rising up like a gilded sentinel against the afternoon sky. Our procession had camped on the outskirts overnight, and I’d already seen the high, painted walls from afar. 

To someone who had never visited a palace before, I must admit it was an impressive sight. Graceful spires in blue and white surrounded the tallest middle tower, with its golden ornaments glittering in the fading daylight. Those were the dominant colours of nobility’s favoured winter residence – blue, white and gold. 

Columns of pale marble supported gigantic balconies, great lion statues flanked the royal banners depicting Orlais’ heraldic symbol – a golden mask stitched on cornflower blue cloth. There were elegantly fashioned fountains, filigree climbing walls for garlands of ivy, precisely trimmed hedges. 

We rode into the outer courtyard through a set of wrought gold gates, and I caught sight of another double gate on the far side, leading into the inner courtyard – where only invited guests would be allowed to enter. Most of our party would stay on this side of the gates, keeping a close watch on the events while the ball would be in full swing. 

Our horses were given over to the royal stables, and some of the honour guard were ushered away by Leliana’s agents. They’d enter the palace covertly and stand ready should anything go wrong. A dozen soldiers stayed, together with the rest of those who won’t be joining Alec inside. 

We were assigned to a large tent-like structure, outfitted with tables, chairs, bedrolls – even food, laid out on polished silver plates. There were also some smaller, private tents set up close to the big, open one. 

I explored the outer courtyard a little while everyone attending the ball got changed into their formal attire. Beautiful birch trees had been planted in strategic places many years ago, leaning over the elegant tents, flanking the wide mews on the western side. The climate in these parts allowed them to keep their leaf-crowns all year long. Masked royal guards stood at the gates, the stillness in their stances almost perfect enough so one might mistake them for statues. 

I found the mask habit bizarre, to say the least. Usually I had a face to match with an aura, which somehow linked the two things in my mind. I could still see their auras – but not their faces, of course. It was quite a disturbing experience. 

I gazed at the palace beyond the gates. Luxuriously dressed guests strolled between the fountains, sat on marble benches as they conversed, climbed the flawless white steps up to the entrance. Some ascended the winding, impressive staircases to the outer balconies, gesticulating at the marvellous view of the city below. 

What a peculiar irony, for an unrefined pirate girl to have risen so far above – I had never imagined myself in such a place, with society’s highest and mightiest walking, talking and feasting just a few steps away from me. I had no illusions that I belonged into their midst, of course. I was only here by proxy, so to say. 

But still, I enjoyed my position on the outside, looking in. I didn’t want to mingle with them. I watched instead, read an aura here or there, tried to imagine what the faces looked like beneath the masks; I noted the fabrics they wore, the lavish jewels twinkling around their necks, the level of detail which had gone into each individual mask. 

_All that glitters is not gold_ , Old Sam had said.  _And never judge things by their appearance alone_ . Alec had called this the heart of intrigue, murder and power games. Behind each mask there are yet more figurative ones, obscuring intentions, hiding secrets. Everyone here played their own game, followed their own agenda. I didn’t envy Alec and the others for having to throw themselves into this gauntlet. 

“Up to no good already, Princess?”, Varric’s voice roused me from my observations. 

I faced him, but as I did I saw Cullen, Leliana and Alec standing together near one of the tents, conversing quietly. My thoughts came to a sudden, screeching halt. Damn it, I had been right. Cullen in that finery was just a downright arresting sight. The black brocade pulled tight around the width of his shoulders, the colour serving to emphasize the golden tint to his skin. The dark red sash tied around his slim waist lent his tall frame something altogether graceful, noble. He looked like he belonged here. Among lords and ladies. Among kings and queens. Their equal, every step of the way. 

And yet… the expression on his features gave him away. The frown, the stiff jaw, the edginess in his intelligent eyes, the lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t seem relaxed at all, on the contrary. He didn’t want to be here – and was trying not to show his discomfort. I felt it in his aura, saw it in his stance that was a little too tense. He kept shifting and craning his neck surreptitiously, like an animal seeking out the closest escape route, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

“You are not hearing a word I say right now, do you? So, I had this friend who once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel…” Someone was talking to me. I should focus. Focus. Where were my thoughts? I snapped out of my wool-gathering and brought my attention back to Varric. It wasn’t easy, because my eyes were very determined to keep staring at Cullen. I couldn’t blame them. 

“What happened then?”, I signed, but Varric merely shook his head. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you after this pompous affair is done. Let’s have drinks later, alright?”, he answered with a lopsided smirk. Dorian and the Bull arrived a moment later. While the handsome mage looked perfectly at home in this luxurious atmosphere, my Qunari friend kept pulling at the lapel of his jacket, rumbling some very vulgar things under his breath. 

“Will you stop fidgeting? Perhaps then you won’t tear that thing open, and there will actually be a place in the world where not everyone has seen your bare chest.”, Dorian griped, running a hand through his sleek black hair. 

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with my bare chest the other night.”, the Bull retorted. A pained groan followed as Varric and I grinned at each other. 

“Do you have to proclaim it like that? Vinashte kaffas, you’re impossible.” 

“What? We’re among friends. And everyone else is so busy trying not to step on each other’s dicks. By the way, I count on you to save me if any noble prick wants to take me for a _ride_.”, the Bull remarked slyly. 

Dorian gave a fatalistic sigh, but his bronze complexion seemed to darken a little. As Josephine joined the others, everyone gathered around her while she gave some last-minute advice and then ushered them towards the inner courtyard gates. 

“Good luck to you all.”, I signed, waving my farewells. 

“Thanks, Princess.”, Varric answered. “We’ll need it, I think.” They left, talking softly among each other. To my surprise, Cullen lingered for another moment. I stood a bit straighter, pulling my shoulders back as my gaze darted up to meet his. He observed me with a serious expression. 

“I just wanted to tell you before I go inside…”, he began tentatively, falling silent for an instant. I froze in place when his hand touched my arm. Well, it was almost too light to be called a touch. He leaned a bit closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. 

“This place may not look dangerous. But the most dangerous fights are not the obvious ones. They are those where you do not know who your enemy is. Make no mistake. War retains a presence here too – only silent, well-concealed. We don’t know who we can trust. Please be careful, Selkie. Please don’t wander off on your own while we are gone. I – I don’t like the thought of something happening to you.”

With his intense regard holding me captive, it took some time for the meaning of his words to register. I signed my reply in a very subtle manner, keeping my gestures smaller than usual. Very few people could have interpreted it correctly. I didn’t want anyone looking back and reading what I told him then. 

“I’ll be careful, I promise. But you, too. You’ll stay safe? You don’t like it here. It all makes you uncomfortable.”

Cullen’s eyes gentled as he looked at me. “Always so sensible…”, he murmured, sounding rueful. “No, sorceress. I don’t like it. In fact, I am deliberating if it’s feasible to jump into the river we saw on our journey here, and swim my way back up to the mountains.” 

He said this in a deadly serious tone, but mirth glittered in his eyes as he spoke. I laughed. 

“I could make the water carry you.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” Something else entered his voice during those words, something dark and velvet and spine-tingling. We weren’t jesting about escapes anymore. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, a habit I employed when I felt restless, antsy. Cullen’s gaze flickered to watch the subtle movement, then slid upward again, snagging at the upper seam of my corset. 

“Will you – will you dance?” I hoped it didn’t show how flustered I was. 

“No.”, he sighed. I could have left it there, with his monosyllabic answer. But some bout of foolhardiness made me probe him further. 

“Why not?” He treated me to one of his long, inquisitive looks. 

“It’s inconsequential.” 

“It’s a dance! It’s not meant to be consequential. It’s meant to be fun.”, I retorted, shaking my head. 

“I’m sorry? Fun? I’m sure I don’t know what that means.”, he said, his tone ringing with self-irony. I stared at him, baffled. 

“You are joking.” 

“It would seem so.”, Cullen noted wryly. He glanced towards the gates, where Josephine stood waiting for him. 

“I have to go now.”, he said, before adding softly: “There are exceptions to every rule, you know.” 

It was an odd thing to say, and with that peculiar suggestive undertone. But while I scrambled for an appropriate reply (and found none), Cullen bowed courteously. Before I knew it, the royal guard opened the gates for him to pass through. He was gone, and I was left to wonder what on earth he had meant by that last remark.

* * *

Without a doubt, the Empress knew how to throw a ball. Or at the very least she knew how to put on a proper show for the Orlesian elite. Although the walls dampened the lively conversation and soft music filtering through the open balconies, they did not drown it out entirely. Guests filed in through the gates at the top of the grand staircase, waving their fans or swinging their walking sticks boisterously. The festivities began at sundown and lasted well past midnight. 

I killed some time by sitting together with the honour guards in the big tent, listening to their stories. They drank little of the wine laid out (Cullen had instructed them to stay sober, naturally), but ate generously from the food platters. Solas had retreated into one of the private tents – probably dreaming or reading. He emerged at regular intervals though, asking for news. 

Cole, who could walk among the guests unseen, went forth for short, stealthy visits into the palace, and came back with his usual enigmatic remarks on the developments. We learned about Gaspard’s and Briala’s plans to establish their dominance over Celene, and it seemed they both played the Game ruthlessly to get what they wanted. 

Our people inside stayed silent for a time after this. I tried to distract myself with some awareness exercises, but I was too anxious to concentrate. So I walked circles around the tents, watching the gate intently. Until I almost had a heart attack when Cole materialized out of the shadows between the hedges, gliding silently towards me. Solas joined us after I scratched at the fabric of his tent. 

“Dancing blades in the gardens, all whirling and slicing. They wore strange clothes, like… Black and white, like a chess board. And they kept grinning. Mages, too. I helped defeat them, but there are more in the palace, Alec says.”, Cole reported quietly. 

“Venatori assassins.” My mentor deduced, regarding me with a troubled frown. 

“Yes, them! They are bringing a body, I think, through the servant’s exit, quietly.”, Cole went on while I felt the hairs at the back of my neck rise in fright. Venatori assassins in the palace. Venatori, the people who hunted me. Who had destroyed the Tidedancer and stolen my voice and killed my fathers. Solas seemed to sense the sudden tension humming through me. 

“I do not think they are looking for you here, _da’len_.”, he said calmly. “They are likely working for the one who plots against Celene. Tonight, their prey is an empress.” 

Together with the two of them, I went to the servant’s exit, where two of Leliana’s agents were carrying a body bundled up in inconspicuous fabric. Behind the shelter of a tall hedge, Solas examined the dead Venatori assassin. Even though the sight shocked me, I stayed rooted to the spot. Cole had described it accurately. It was a woman, dressed in a black-and-white fool’s motley, a grinning mask obscuring her face. 

“They are quite rare. Elite assassins, trained in a unique dagger technique, the secrets of which they guard jealously. Harlequin.”, Solas explained, directing the soldiers to hide the body from sight for now. 

Since nobody came to call on us, we assumed that things were under control for now. Surely if something bad happened, we would be notified somehow. I still sat on pins and needles for the next few hours, even though Cole tried to soothe me every time he returned from his trips within the palace. He dropped short one-liners like: 

“Nobody is hurt, but nobody is fine.”

“Alec danced. A flower light and smooth, but her roots are deep and dark.” 

“They have faces inside their faces, lying with a layer that tells the truth. I don’t know how to help them.” 

“Cullen is afraid. They’re hunting him, following fear. He shouldn’t be here.” 

“Josephine likes the glitter and the gold. But she hates that everyone is looking at him. Someday, all his dances will be hers. She keeps every smile close to her heart.” 

“Leliana has many masks. When she puts on a new one, she changes all the way down.”

“Too many questions for Varric. When they buzz around him, he imagines hanged men and hawks and the hearth where he sits with his friends.” 

“One thinks of silken robes, sliding off bronzed skin. Beautiful, gentle, tongue no longer cutting but dancing instead. The other thinks of strength and freedom and perhaps, maybe, just another night. They fit together because they think they don’t.” 

Typical Cole-ishness. Around midnight, two soldiers from the inside came through the back gate, looking all excited. They were followed by a pleased Varric, who seemed glad to escape the festivities. Everyone gathered in the tent for their report. 

“It was the Grand Duchess, all along. She was in league with Corypheus, planning to murder Celene. The Herald exposed her in front of everyone!”, one of the men proclaimed. I stood aside with Solas and Cole as Varric opened his jacket at the collar, breathing deep.

“Shit. It’s done. This must have been the longest evening of my life. Traipsing around royal quarters and manicured gardens, hunting Venatori bastards. I really need an ale.” 

“So the Grand Duchess was behind the assassination plot? Nobody would have suspected her. Even we were focusing on Gaspard and Briala as culprits.”, Solas remarked. 

“Yeah, we were wrong on that one. Seems she hoped to become queen of the world once Corypheus ascended to godhood. Almost got us, too. Attacked us in the royal wing – had to close a rift there and roust out her damn lackeys.”, Varric recounted the events. 

“Where is she now?”, I wondered. 

“In our custody. Our guys got her, she won’t escape. Cullen will make sure of that. She’ll be taken to Skyhold for judgement. This whole thing did not work out for most of the royal family, except Celene. Gaspard was sentenced for treason. Although he wasn’t the main manipulator here, Celene won’t let his schemes stand. I guess he’ll be executed in a few weeks.”

We all were silent for a long moment, absorbing this. 

“Is everyone still at the ball? Have things calmed down?”, I asked at length. 

“Yeah, we cleared all Venatori – although the guests never knew about them in the first place. Everyone’s still inside. There will be speeches and whatnot… A hundredth round of dancing. But since the threats are eliminated, Alec sent me to report.” 

Good. Saved the empress, exposed her cousins, and stabilized the problem of Orlais’ civil war, all in one fell swoop. Excellent job, Alec! Of course, he had a little help from his friends. I listened to the extended retelling Varric gave, and then for a while as the others discussed the political implications behind Celene and Briala – who’d apparently been lovers – being reconciled again. 

After some time, they turned to the topic of our departure. 

“The ball itself will go on into the wee hours of the morning.”, Varric groaned. “I’m already sick of it. But I think when the worst of the bustle around the coup dies off, we can make a quick retreat.” 

“We won’t be marching off into the night, I suppose. It is much too late to depart now.”, Solas replied. 

“No, we have reserved lodgings for everyone in the High Quarter at some fancy inn. We’ll depart at dawn, according to Ruffles.” 

I left them to their conversation then. Enthusiastic about another victory for the Inquisition, the soldiers gathered in the tent expressed their joy vociferously. They even began singing a few tavern songs to pass the time. I, on the other hand, climbed up one of the tall birches close to the inner courtyard wall, settling myself on a branch that reached over the boundary. 

Countless sojourns up to the crow’s nest in my youth made climbing trees easy. While I sat between the dark greenery and waited for our heroes to make a reappearance, I nibbled on some scavenged delicacies from the food platters. I listened to the songs of the soldiers, the rustle of wind between the leaves, the murmurs drifting up from guests strolling on the other side. Less than an hour had passed this way when I heard a voice. 

“But you cannot be thinking of leaving already! It’s barely midnight. I had so hoped for a dance!” A woman. Her accent was unmistakably Orlesian, with that exaggerated sing-song lilt the nobles used. It grated on my nerves, that whiny tone, that ill-concealed haughtiness. 

“Forgive me, but – I really don’t wish to be rude.” This was Cullen’s voice. Deep, resonant, calm. And somewhere beneath the courtesy, irritated. I had felt his aura before I had heard him. A small part of my qai always kept a lookout for him. I didn’t do it consciously. It was intuitive. 

“You haven’t danced all evening, Commander.”, the woman pursuing him accused sweetly. “If you don’t wish to be rude, you should come back inside. We could drink a glass of wine, dance, and you can tell me all about the battles you have won… And how you got that wicked scar…” 

An ugly emotion overcame me when I heard how she deepened her voice at the end, how she almost  _purred_ the last words. It rushed through my veins, burning, possessive, snarling – while a distant, rational part of me was horrified at my aberrant anger. The woman’s aura was a vain, fickle thing, a shallow little shawl fluttering in a frivolous wind. Suddenly I hated everything about her. 

Shifting on the branch, I inched farther along it, until I was just above the wall separating the outer courtyard from the inner one. I pushed aside a branch, and then I saw her. Thick auburn hair, pinned up into a glossy, sophisticated style. Her mint-green silk dress moulded to her generous curves. A silver mask hid the upper part of her face, glinting in the light of the lamps. 

Cullen stood facing her, his shoulders stiff, fingers coiling and uncoiling restlessly at his side. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to turn and flee. I recognized that demeanour. Hunted. He was hunted. This must have been one of the particularly tenacious ones Cole had spoken about. 

“I don’t drink.”, Cullen said flatly. It seemed he was losing his patience. “And I don’t dance either. Not with –“ He stopped short abruptly, because the woman had stepped forward, advancing on him. She came closer and closer, until they were in touching distance. He backed away, but his legs hit a marble bench, thwarting escape. Cullen was frozen in place. He went forcibly still, as if being motionless somehow made him invisible. Regrettably, it didn’t. 

“Perhaps just a stroll around the garden then. There are dozens of quiet places where we could get to know each other better…”, the stupid woman crooned seductively, reaching for him. With her hands. She touched him with her hands and then tilted her face up, rising to tiptoes, and – 

No. I’d had enough. Too far, lady. You went too far. Cullen might have been too polite to women to lay down boundaries, but I was not. Furious about her audacity, I reacted on instinct. I didn’t have to look far for my retribution. They stood mere feet from a fountain, bubbling merrily with water. My hand whipped through the air, weaving almost viciously. 

A streak of chilly water splashed from the fountain, and I sent it clashing right into her beautiful mint-green dress, splattering it from sleeve to seam. The woman shrieked in in shock about the cold deluge, jumping back quicker than a cat confronted with an unwanted bath. Oh, spitefulness. How sweet is your taste! 

Cullen used the outraged tirade about her ruined dress to put the solid barrier of the bench between them. I shifted out of sight between the shadowy leaves, but I caught him glancing distinctly into my direction before he tried to calm the drenched ‘huntress’. 

“Maker, I am terribly sorry – but I’m sure water cannot ruin your dress, my lady. I don’t know how this happened. It must have been the wind. You should go back inside quickly, before you catch a chill.” He managed to sound judicious and civil, all things considered. 

The noblewoman glared at him for a prolonged moment, her passions sufficiently cooled. Without another word, she hiked up her sodden skirts and whirled around, stomping off towards the palace entrance. 

A moment later, I heard the gates open and steady footsteps close in on the tree in which I hid. Even in the semi-darkness, I saw the golden top of his head as he came to a halt beneath the birch. He hovered there for an instant. Then he spoke, seemingly to the night. 

“Strange… Water usually does not leap from a fountain on its own.”, Cullen mused pensively. I sighed. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he noticed me. With two well-measured jumps, I descended the birch and landed on the grass. Not even a flinch from him at my sudden appearance. 

He still looked as splendid as hours before, although perhaps a shade more rumpled. According to Cole, this pursuer had not been the only one Cullen had to shake off tonight. Tiredness lurked in his eyes, but the corner of his mouth curved upward, almost as if in amusement. 

“Thank you for saving me.”, he said quietly. I didn’t know if he could read my signs in the gloom, so I stepped a bit closer to give him a better view. 

“She went too far. You didn’t want her attention. You made it clear, but she didn’t heed. She should have backed off.” I paused momentarily, grimacing. “I _am_ sorry about the dress.” 

Cullen sighed, rolling his shoulders as though attempting to disperse stiffness from the muscles. 

“She likely has a hundred more of those.” He glanced around us, taking note of the hedges winding around the birch, the light filtering through the foliage from the tents beyond. The atmosphere felt oddly private, reminding me of the Satinalia feast where he had pushed me behind the arbour. I wondered if the same thought was on his mind as he surveyed our surroundings. 

“Have you heard about what happened?” 

I nodded. “Varric told us the whole story. Another victory won. Alec must be overjoyed – and Josie even more so! Her tireless efforts paid off.”

“They did.”, Cullen said, exhaling a relieved breath. “The two of them and Leliana seemed much more in their element than me here. Maker, I am just glad it’s over. If I never have to see this place again, I’ll die a happy man.” 

The strained edge in his inflection worried me. This ordeal had exhausted him. I searched his face in a methodical examination. He was a little pale, the lambent gleam in his eyes overshadowed by a haunted look. I took another step, bringing me close enough to him so I could see the little creases on his forehead, the hard brackets framing his mouth. 

“What is it?”, I signed carefully. Cullen watched the movement of my hands, and I had the impression doing this somehow unwound him. His shoulders sank, relaxing their rigid posture. 

“It was just… a long, long day.”, he said, voice softening. “All evening, I had to listen to these people speak their meaningless frivolities to me, ask me personal questions I didn’t want to answer. They tried to coax me into dancing with all sorts of excuses. I rejected them so many times, I felt thrown back into my training years… Reciting mantras and verses over and over again. Why did Leliana have to put me on display this way?” 

I had a great many answers to that question, but refrained from uttering any of them. Knowing that the nobles would eat it up, Leliana had made use of his looks as a distraction – she had little scruple when it came to taking advantages which would give us an edge. She was a bit of an end-justifies-the-means kind of person. 

I don’t know what inner demon drove me to sign my next sentence. “Perhaps she is planning to marry you off to some high-born damsel like that one just now. For a profitable alliance?” 

Cullen blanched so white he looked like a ghost, nearly see-through. “Sweet Maker, Selkie – don’t even suggest such a thing. You’ll jinx me to suffer a horrible fate. I’d rather face a hundred Adamants.” 

I couldn’t hold back my laughter at his vicious declaration. I’d worried that among the many people showering him with attention, at least one might have caught his fancy. Thankfully, that did not happen. My amusement seemed to captivate him, since his eyes roamed over my face with an unguarded interest. I felt my cheeks grow hot. 

“I wonder… what your laughter sounds like.” Somehow, he had shifted closer, so close our chests were almost touching. His voice had dropped so low it felt like a hum, oscillating through me. 

In the tent, the soldiers intoned a slow melody, some sort of ballad. I heard Varric’s deep timbre, mingling with the whisper of the leaves; the sound of a violin, a note peaking in the distance; high, tinkling laughter; but my senses centred themselves around the rhythm of Cullen’s breathing. Inhale, exhale. Rise and fall. I knew he was looking at me, studying me. My thoughts scattered into pieces around me, and the ground suddenly felt like quicksand beneath my feet. 

“You never asked.” Confused by his whispered words, I flicked my gaze up to his face. It was a beautiful assortment of outlines and hazy shapes. Familiar, more intimate somehow in the darkness. I couldn’t read his expression. Contemplative, perhaps. 

“For a dance.”

“But… You don’t dance. You said it several times.”, I signed nervously. When his hand settled on the small of my back, I went so perfectly still, I even stopped breathing for a moment. His fingers caught mine, enfolding them in a light grip. My heart made a mad attempt to desert me by way of my throat. Maker, what was happening? He pulled me in, slowly, carefully. I felt his warm breath waft through the baby-fine wisps of hair at my brow. 

“I don’t. Not with them. Not out in the open, like a prize being hawked around. But this…”, he trailed away, guiding me into a lazy turn. “This is different. Listen.” 

I did listen. Our surroundings made music for us. The soldiers’ ballad, unfolding into the nightly air. Their voices joined the nocturnal symphony nature played around us. And together, they created a song so unique, unlike anything I had heard before. We swayed to the melody, spinning in slow-motion, his hand like a reassurance on my back, his feet moving in a languid pace, unhurried. 

We danced. Hidden from the rest of the world by a tall hedge, beneath a vigilant birch tree, we danced. I let my head fall against his chest. The illustriously embroidered cloth felt unfamiliar, foreign compared to the plain-weave cambric he usually wore beneath his armour. 

He smelled different, too, his clean, masculine simplicity overlaid by something too heavy, too civilized. The sweet perfumes of the ball, the complex smell of luxury and needless expense. But he was still Cullen underneath it all. I sighed contentedly, lost in the moment. 

“I rather like this kind of dancing.”, he murmured above my ear. 

I felt his chest expand with a deep, deep breath. As if he hadn’t breathed in years.  _Me too_ , I told him silently. His splayed palm slid up my spine, along the criss-crossing ties of my corset, over the soft weave of my shirt. 

Bare fingertips brushed my nape, questing into my haphazardly braided hair. Gently, he cupped the back of my head, thumb ghosting over the little scar he’d found last time. He always handled me with such caution, as if he was afraid of hurting me, as if I was something delicate and graceful. 

“I have wondered dozens of times since… that night. How this small scar had reminded me that I was not dreaming. How there are so many things I don’t know about you. I haven’t even heard your voice… Most of the time, I have no idea what goes on in your head… Perhaps I’m the worst judge of character, but…” 

His soft voice trailed away, and instinctively I pulled a few inches back, tipping my face up to look at him. People have some inbred, age-old ability to sense when something important is about to happen. I knew it like I knew the humidity in the air before the first raindrop fell, the unmistakable scent heralding a summer storm. My sight had adjusted to the cloak of shadows around us, and I saw the familiar contours of his face, felt his intent regard. A strange prickle of unease skipped down my spine, but I couldn’t say where it came from. 

“I trust you. I feel like… you know me. You know without asking. You understand without explanations. I feel like there are no secrets between us. But there is something else. Something that makes me joke and dance, because suddenly, I want to. Something that makes me overstep my bounds, again and again.” 

He took a disjointed breath, abruptly releasing my fingers. I was rooted to the spot, witless. The next I knew, he cupped my cheeks with both hands, his fingers curving around my skull. 

My unruly locks were compressed beneath his palms, and he tilted my face to his. My legs were suddenly wobbly. Stomach flipping, heart booming, breath stuttering, I watched Cullen lean down to me. He stopped at the last instant, his lips hovering just an inch above mine. 

“Something that makes me want to kiss you every minute of the day.” 

When he kissed me, it wasn’t the cautious exploration from Satinalia and it wasn’t the unbound urgency from the night before Adamant. It was something of both as his mouth brushed my lips in slow, delicious movements. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, nipping, tasting the flavour with his tongue. A gasp escaped me, and he took the opportunity at once, brazenly licking his way into my mouth. 

I melted against him, letting him support my head with his hands. He deepened our kiss, made a wicked chase out of it, a different kind of dance. Tongues tangling, each wet, sensual glide sending sparks through my blood, my skin, my insides. This was what I wanted. What I had dreamed about. Fantasized about. 

And yet – something was not right. It wasn’t the kiss, because every kiss from him was its unique version of perfection. But beneath the pull, beneath the exhilaration, beneath the compelling firmness of his lips, I felt that unease again. That chill at the nape of my neck, that painful iron band squeezing my heart _. _

_I trust you. I feel like there are no secrets between us._

It had been the first time that he'd said he trusted me. So honest, so unguarded. A man who never showed weakness, who refused to bow to his demons, who defied fate by breaking the lyrium's hold on his mind. He had made himself vulnerable, deliberately. To me. 

And a small voice spoke to me then, coming from the far corner of my mind. A voice I had pushed down, ignored whenever it had whispered things I wanted to forget, to erase, to quench until they were gone for good. 

_Liar. Coward. _

I stiffened, my whole body going rigid. Cullen noticed the change in me instantly. He gentled his kiss to the faintest wisp of a touch, before he pulled back slowly. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” His voice held the same tender concern as weeks before. Even while half out of his mind, he had been so considerate with me. Selfless. 

_Tell him_ . My conscience was becoming louder, pushing to the forefront.  _Tell him the truth_ . 

“I caught you off-guard, didn’t I? Forgive me…”, Cullen said ruefully. Shame swallowed me whole. The fact that he completely misread me in this moment only made it worse, only made me realize how he truly trusted me, how he would never suspect me of deception, of keeping secrets. But I had. I had kept secrets. 

_Don’t trust outsiders with our secrets. Nobody but us, Selkie. Family._

Swallowing the giant lump in my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut. I huddled against Cullen’s chest, hiding my face, hiding myself really. As if it would stop the tide of guilt from descending on me. For a moment, my strange reaction seemed to baffle him. 

Then his arms wound around my shoulders, and his warmth encased me. He just held me close. Held me together. Safety. Sanctuary. I wanted to cry. Now. Now was the time to tell him. But I couldn’t, I just… couldn’t. I couldn’t bear breaking his trust after everything. 

“It’s alright.”, he mumbled into my hair, his voice soft and soothing, as though he tried to calm an agitated creature, or a weeping child. “Whatever it is… It will be alright.” 

_It won’t._ Some instinct told me that I would not be deceiving him – all of them, much longer. And when the inevitable came to pass, it wouldn’t be alright. 

I let Cullen hold me in the darkness, here in the outer courtyard of the Winter Palace, the heart of intrigue. It struck me as bitter irony, that I allowed the best chance to confess my own deception to pass me by on that night. 

But I did. I could have faced it, and likely spared myself a lot of the heartbreak that would follow soon. But I wasn’t strong or brave or selfless enough. 

I feared disappointing him, losing his trust, destroying the fragile, priceless thing I felt growing between us. I feared that the warmth in his eyes would disappear, replaced by cold judgement.

_Maker… Grant me just a little bit of time. Just a bit longer._

Once again, as so many times before, I ran from my fear. Because my conscience was right. I was a coward. A liar. A fraud. And I'd been in denial about it for months. Yet still, I hoped. I hoped my secret would never see the light of day. 


	18. XVIII. Ghosts of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave this here.  
*drops the chapter on you and runs*

### XVIII. Ghosts of the Past

_The Weaver_

* * *

There is this saying that running away from your problems is a race you’ll never win. Strangely enough, we still make the attempt. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be lulled into the sense of security my new life at Skyhold had given me. I should have known that the past I had believed dead and drowned would rise from the bottom of the sea to pursue me. The secrets I had kept for so long, for fear of what their unveiling would mean to the people who’d come to trust me.

Matthias had raised me with the belief that entrusting certain things to ‘outsiders’ could get me killed, or worse. In this, he and Ariu had always seen eye to eye. My fathers were in a place where no hurt could reach them anymore, but their secrets still needed to be protected. And so, I had heeded the only teachers I had ever known, although my deception had weighed on my conscience like a smith’s anvil dropped onto my chest, every day. I had felt safe. I had thought the ghosts gone and my life begun anew. But I had underestimated Leliana.

A few days after our victorious return from the Winter Palace, I was called to join the advisors and Alec in the war room for a meeting. This alone should have been a clear cautionary sign. I had never been asked to attend a meeting – I had often delivered messages, urgent ones, while the war council was in session. But not once had I been invited to join the talks.

Something must be wrong. The meal I had eaten solidified into a clump of anxiety in my stomach as I traversed the great hall, and then the long vestibule beyond Josephine’s office. My heartbeat was thrumming with acute trepidation when I pushed open the heavy door to the war room. It creaked and groaned like a dire warning.

Inside, the three advisors fell silent at my entry. They stood behind the giant desk draped with the enormous map of Thedas as though they had turned to stone, all of them looking at me with expressionless faces. Alec sat in a high-backed chair on the near side, arms crossed and one hand rubbing his chin speculatively. A new item had joined the clutter around the desk’s edges – a long, leather-bound bundle which rested on the oak surface, within arm’s reach of the Inquisitor.

Fear rose up in me, sealing my throat shut with a lump of nervous anticipation. I perceived the auras in the room in one fell swoop, and I didn’t like what I felt. It made me fairly sure about the contents of the ominous bundle.

“Selkie. Thank you for arriving so soon.”, Leliana said. She sounded detached, almost accusing. Cullen’s face was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to throw out sparks of anger. Josie just looked disappointed.

“Sit.”, Alec ordered, rising from his place and gesturing to the chair. My legs felt wooden and unsteady, but I did as he asked. The four of them kept standing where they were. A small, terribly laden silence fell, before Leliana started speaking without preamble.

“For weeks, my agents searched the Storm Coast for any sign of the Venatori who attacked you, the battleship they commandeered to hunt the Tidedancer, or even any whisper that there have been survivors of the ship-wreck other than you. They found nothing. But they have been looking in the wrong place. I had thought that after their failure, they would move back West to regroup. Instead, I received reports of a strange ship passing the narrow channel above Amaranthine. Sailing East.”

She paused for a moment. I squirmed in my seat, knowing that this had only been the introduction to a larger story.

“So, I started requesting information from my agents in Ferelden. I told them to search the coastal areas, to be on the lookout for a ship with black sails, bring me anything that could be tied to it at all. They found no sign of the ship itself. It seems to have disappeared, yet again eluding us. But one of my agents near Denerim had a stroke of luck, apparently. He ventured onto the coast for a prolonged survey, and camped out in an abandoned fishing shack. And do you know what he stumbled upon there, by mere accident?”

It was a rhetorical question, but I looked at the leather-bound bundle as if it might do me bodily harm.

“Open it.”, Alec said then, pushing the thing under my nose.

His voice was harsh, but reluctantly so. As if he regretted it had all come to this. With shaking fingers, I unbound the strings around the leather. They were already loosened. I felt every pair of eyes on me as I looked upon the bundle’s contents.

There were only a few items inside. A small, battered locket. Brass, not gold. Simple and almost unadorned, except for the tiny anchor on its surface, nearly worn bare from the many times I had rubbed my fingers over it. I would have seen a familiar picture had I opened it, but my heart couldn’t bear to set eyes on what I had lost. I ran my thumb over the engraving at the back. ‘_From M and A, to S. Through time and tide, always_.’

Setting the locket aside with a compulsive swallow, I picked up the wooden horse, unable to block out the memory that invaded my mind when I touched it.

_“Dad! Look at the horse! It’s beautiful.” The scent of spices, fish and people filled the air. Merchant stalls as far as my eyes could see, their vivid curtains fluttering in the sultry air. A balmy breeze blowing in from the gently rushing ocean. Enthusiastic voices prizing their wares, mingling with the vibrant auras, the abundance of sensations._

_My hand, held securely in a larger one. Slender fingers wrapped around mine, their hold balancing my wobbly sea-legs on solid ground. A dark-skinned man with a thick moustache, smiling at me with a knowing glint in his beady eyes._

_“A present for the little one, my good men? My treasure caught your eye, yes? Carved from red cedar, it is. And the mane is real horsehair! Taken from the queen’s finest mares!”_

_A snort to my left. My enthusiasm crumbled at once. He would never allow us to buy it._

_“_Vhenan_… Just this once, let her have something special.” Measured voice. Gentle, flowing qai._

_“You’ll spoil her.” A deep sigh, almost fatalistic. And the faintest hint of something… Something I forever tried to grasp, but could never reach._

_“Every child deserves to be spoiled from time to time.” _

_I agreed._

_“Fine… We’ll take the horse.” A moment later, my treasure was settled into my hands. I couldn’t believe it._

_“Don’t lose it.”, he said firmly. I nodded, running my fingers over the fine mane, inhaling the spicy scent of the cedar wood._

In the present, I repeated that exact same motion now. The horse-hair mane had long been gone, lost to too many of these same awed caresses. The wood’s aroma had been replaced by the smell of brine, polish and lamp oil. It smelled like home. I wiped the tear from the corner of my eye distractedly, not even glancing around to see if my reaction had changed the deadpan looks on everyone’s faces. Silence had fallen, an uncomfortable, almost embarrassed kind.

Finally, I looked at the last item in the bundle. The one I had known would be there. The one I dreaded the most. A sword, sheathed inside a modest scabbard. This way, it looked like any of its countless siblings strewn around the world, even if the masterfully crafted hilt made it somewhat of an expensive exemplar.

But it is a fact of life that judging things by their outer layer can be deceiving. Fused to the sheath’s metal band was a small, silver cylinder. It was crafted into the scabbard with such expertise, one might almost overlook it. The magical seal on it had been broken. Dagna. Of course, Dagna.

I didn’t pick up the sword. I couldn’t. And so, Alec was the one to lift the weapon. After a short inspection, he opened the cylinder and removed the scroll it contained. Before he could read it out loud though, Cullen reached forth abruptly and took the parchment from the Inquisitor’s hand. He began reciting.

“_To all Chapters of the Free Marches,_

_We report the escape of an unnamed elven apostate. Recognizable by extensive markings on arms and back. Highly dangerous. Last seen fleeing Kirkwall, accompanied by Knight-Captain Paul Cane, fugitive of the Order, depraved heretic. Attempt to capture both and return them to Kirkwall. Lethal force is authorized in case of resistance._

_Signed…_”

There was a short pause.

“…_Meredith Stannard, Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Circle_.”, Cullen bit out.

I felt the weight of his gaze as those words sliced through me, spoken in such a harsh tone. A tidal wave of fury rose in its wake. Highly dangerous! What a cruel joke on Ariu, who was no danger to anyone really. And… _Depraved heretic_. Why had they even kept the sword and the warrant? They’d destroyed every other clue which could have led back to them. But we had to keep a memento, didn’t we? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Oh, the irony!

“That is a templar sword. Would you explain why a sword containing a warrant – at least two decades old, I might add – for a templar traitor is among your personal keepsakes?”, Leliana asked sharply. I stood with such vehemence, the chair overturned behind me and crashed to the ground.

“He was not a traitor!”, I signed fiercely, my hands fairly cutting the air. “He was not _depraved_!”

The assembled group startled at my sudden outburst. I had no way of knowing what my face looked like at that moment, but Alec took a cautious step away from me. Neither of them had ever seen me angry. But the insinuations. The damn hypocrisy of that monstrous woman!

“You knew Paul Cane.”

It wasn’t a question. Still, I pressed my hands to my head, frustrated that they didn’t understand. They _couldn’t _understand. But I wouldn’t allow for such blatant lies to continue, piss on my father’s pride.

“Of course I knew him! _He is my father_!”

The utter thunderstruck shock on their faces made me want to let out a bitter laugh. Aye, father. Here are your secrets, bared at last. No more hiding. He may have agreed to approach the Inquisition, but he’d never planned to reveal who he truly was. Twenty years after his desertion, nobody remembered what Paul Cane had looked like. In all the chaos between mages and templars, he’d surely been forgotten.

People saw what they expected to see – a hardened ship-captain, a pirate. That had kept him, and us, safe for so long. Now I would unravel it all. I briefly wondered if these items surfacing now meant that he’d somehow survived the ship-wreck. But I would deal with that later.

“You mean to say… that the traitor Paul Cane… is Matthias Cornwall?”, Alec asked incredulously.

“He was _not a traitor_!”, I repeated furiously.

“Then for Maker’s sake, tell us what he was!”, Cullen yelled, making me flinch at the insulted ire in his voice. He had never yelled at me before. It hurt more than I could express in words. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration, noting how Alec righted the chair I had rudely overthrown. I slumped down into it.

“Matthias was a templar under Meredith in her early years. He disagreed with her ways. The paranoia. The harsh treatments. She was like that even then.”, I began signing, avoiding either of their questioning gazes.

“One night, the patrols brought in a man. An elf. He had used strange magic they had never seen before. Made water float.”

“Ariu.”, Cullen supplied curtly. I nodded.

“Ariu was… frightened. He had been held captive by blood mages before, now templars. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. He rarely spoke of that time. The templars were no better than the mages. They interrogated him. They did… violent things. The Circle mages did not intervene. Meredith did not tell them. She thought Ariu was a freak of nature. Dangerous. In one interrogation… Ariu tried to defend himself. His qai acted on mere instinct. He… had cut himself… and used the blood to slice a templar’s arm clean off.”, I explained.

“You told us that Waterweavers cannot weave blood.”, Leliana interjected, sounding horrified. I jerked my head in denial.

“No. My exact words were: We cannot weave water that _belongs to sentient creatures_. Blood only truly belongs to you as long as it is in your body, warm and alive, saturated by your life-force. When it separates and cools, it is another form of water. It feels wrong to weave it, because blood remembers well. But we _can_. Ariu was desperate enough for that last resort. He was in pain. He just wanted the pain to stop.”

“How does this tie in with Paul Cane – or rather Matthias Cornwall?”, Cullen demanded. I gathered my courage for the rest of the story.

“Meredith was outraged by the attack. She mistook what Ariu had done for blood magic. It’s not. Ask Solas or Dorian or any mage of talent if you don’t believe me. Ariu did not use his blood to summon a demon, or to enhance his powers. He used it like _water_. But that didn’t matter to the Knight-Commander. Perhaps she even knew it wasn’t blood magic, and simply didn’t care. ‘The magic you cannot understand, you kill.’”

“I think I know where this will end.”, Alec sighed, a grudging regret spreading on his face.

“They debated what to do. They feared the unknown. He was an anomaly, or an abomination. Some said ‘Make him Tranquil’. Some said ‘Kill him, quietly, mercifully’. My father was the only one who attempted to understand him. During Ariu’s imprisonment, they talked. Became… reluctant friends. Confidants, maybe. Ariu once told me that… he felt what could grow between them, even back then.”

“Matthias helped him escape. And was branded a traitor for it.”, Cullen spoke in a dead voice.

“They wanted to kill Ariu! It doesn’t matter if his mind or his body, they would have destroyed him and his magic! _Our_ magic!”, I erupted in a mad fury, beyond reason.

“You lied to us! _To me_!”, he thundered just as fiercely, and now I had the feeling that this was all much more personal to him than to the others. They flinched at the vehemence in Cullen’s outburst, staring at him in astonishment.

“_Yes. Yes I lied_!”, I threw back at him. “I lied to protect them. They dragged his name through the dirt, called him ‘depraved heretic’, came after him and Ariu, while they hushed their own cruelty up! So father changed their lives, hid everything away, kept moving on the sea. Made a new life, a free life! A life where a unique mage such as Ariu wouldn’t be experimented on! Tortured and dissected to understand his power, or neutered to destroy it! Matthias trusted nobody with our secrets but us. With his past. He said it was the only way to protect us.”

“I can’t believe this…” Cullen’s face was distorted with a betrayal that broke my heart into little pieces. “I asked you in the beginning. How much you knew. And you lied. You knew _everything_. When I mentioned Meredith… You knew _exactly_ who she was. _And you never said a word_!”

The tension of the situation drove me to let out a silent, mirthless laugh at his choice of expression – because aye, after all, I never _could_ say a word. It was strange that the entire room had fallen silent as a crypt when the argument had begun to centre around just the two of us. The others were now watching us in the way people watched two highly volatile substances battle each other for supremacy – wary, unmoving, with a disturbed fascination.

“No, I didn’t. I only trusted you with a hundred other things about me. But you choose to focus on this! Does everything else I entrusted you with count for nothing? Don’t I deserve the benefit of the doubt after –“ I broke off mid-sentence, shaking off the memories of helping with the headaches. Of the night before Adamant. Of Halamshiral. Of everything –

“_No_. I will _not_ say it. I feared that this would happen. In the beginning, I didn’t trust you because you were a templar. But then… I feared your anger at my dishonesty. And your judgement. I had to protect my father’s secrets.”, I signed, my hands trembling with the pressure his intense gaze put on me.

“A lie of omission is still _a lie_. And you protected a father who never showed you an ounce of tenderness.”, he hissed.

“For Ariu, then! Who had loved Matthias, _no matter what_! Who had suffered enough under the tyranny of the Order _you_ once belonged to! How many had been hurt unjustly because of _her_ madness?! How many had to suffer before anyone thought of standing up to her?! How can you accuse me of holding back my trust, you damn hypocrite!”

I pointed a shaking finger at him to emphasize my words. It looked like a malediction. Cullen blanched, wincing as though I’d stabbed him with actual knives. His face flooded with a speechless shock.

Oh no. What have I done? I regretted my words at once. I hadn’t meant them – it just pained me so much to see his trust in me broken, by my own stupidity. Maker, Ariu had always told me that I was too stubborn, too proud. Like Matthias. This side of me surfaced so rarely. But it was such an old wound, torn open now, salted by the anger of the man I –

I didn’t finish that thought. It would have wrecked me to face the realization, at this _wrong_ moment, in this completely inappropriate situation. That was why I fled. I didn’t even grab my possessions.

“Excuse me.”, I signed in passing to the others. I only realized that I had been crying when the chilly air outside the throne room washed over my face, making me feel the tracks my tears had left. Rushing to my room blindly, I stuffed a few days’ worth of clothes into my travelling bag. I needed some distance from this keep. It felt more oppressive than ever before, boxing me in, crushing my qai.

I was coming apart at the seams. Too much, it was all too much. The memories, the revelations, the fight with Cullen, my mind which had tried to unload a bare-naked truth on me I couldn’t yet bear. I needed to feel the sea, or my soul would unhinge itself entirely.

With my bag in hand, I hastened my steps to the stables and saddled Gambit with a very sceptical Master Dennet watching me. I was sure that he sensed the utter pandemonium raging inside me somehow, but he didn’t pry or question me. Just as I secured the bridle, my bag already fastened behind the saddle, a voice made me jump.

“Going somewhere?” Varric stood leaning against a wooden column, quite relaxed, although his expression held a hint of worry. Alec was beside him, holding the tied-up leather bundle. I loathed the sight of it now. Would it follow me everywhere, that damn thing? Haunting me, reminding me of what my father’s inbred distrust had led me to do? The Inquisitor surveyed me for a prolonged, intense moment. But his eyes were… kind. Understanding. I didn’t deserve such a friend.

“Tell me you don’t intend to leave.”, he said very seriously.

“Yeah, Princess. If I had left the first time Curly lost his shit with me, I would be –“, Varric began, but Alec stilled him with a look.

“Not the time, my friend. Selkie.” He waited patiently until I met his eyes. By all that is holy, it was hard.

“I won’t pretend that I wasn’t stunned by the story you told us. But I don’t blame you for keeping things to yourself. Everyone has secrets, past hurts we don’t wish to be dragged out into the open. Leliana might be… well, not angry, but subdued about it for a while. And Cullen…”

“I’ve known him since Kirkwall. He is always so composed, but he can erupt in a temper. The good thing is, he usually cools down as quickly as he flares up. I would bet guilt gnaws at him already.”, Varric said, his tone less sarcastic than mild.

“It’s not just that.”, I signed reluctantly. Which was the truth in many ways other than they might have thought. “I just… need a few days. Away. Everything is… too much.”

“We blindsided you.”, Alec said apologetically. “I told Leliana it was not a good idea, but… She said the surprise would make you come clean more easily than if you had been prepared.”

I didn’t blame Leliana. I blamed myself.

“Where will you go?”

“Jader.”

“Of course.”, he mused. “The closest seaside town. You’d like to see the sea. But you won’t get on a ship, will you?”

I shook my head. This was my home now. But sometimes, it’s best to leave a haunted house and let the ghosts finish their tantrum. And hope that when you return, they’ve gone to sleep again.

“I promise, I will come back. I would not leave you like that, Alec.”

Cole had joined us too by now, sitting on a barrel of water, looking at me with clear sympathy in his unblinking eyes.

“Threads torn from my tapestry, fraying, forlorn, frightening. I had weaved a pattern I hadn’t known how to weave. Glimmering gold, growing, glinting. It’s my fault that he is angry.”, he said softly. “I would like to help, but… I promised to help Alec already.”

“Meaning he agreed to come to Emprise du Lion with me.”, Alec said, not at all surprised by Cole’s sudden appearances anymore. He graciously skipped over the first remark.

“Still… Even if the roads are safe, I cannot let you go to Jader alone. The Venatori might still be looking for you. We have people stationed at the city and along the way, but…”

“Good thing I have been craving a change of scenery for some time. I have a few days to spare. I could accompany her. With Bianca and me at her side, she’d be safe.”, Varric offered promptly.

“Would that be alright with you, Selkie?” The open concern on his face moved me deeply. I nodded once.

“Great! Hey, Dennet! Saddle my pony, if you please. I’m going to enjoy some seaside air for a few days.”, Varric called at once, before he excused himself to pack a few supplies.

Alec lingered, weighing the leather bundle in his hand.

“I thought you would like these. You left them on the war table.”, he said at length. I did take the pendant and the wooden horse. But I shook my head at the sword.

“Leave it. Do what you want with it. That thing has caused enough pain already.”, I signed wearily.

I hoped he would throw it into a ditch somewhere. It was difficult to say who I was angrier at. Matthias, for inoculating me with all his suspicions, driving me to keep his secret for so long. Ariu, for never contradicting him. For keeping me ignorant, secluded. They might still be alive. Out there.

But neither had come looking for me. Instead, someone had left a cryptic package at the ass end of Ferelden, and it had backfired on me in a disastrous explosion. I felt betrayed by the two people who had raised me, always insisting on my protection, on hiding me from the world. Because of this, I had lost Cullen’s trust. Leliana’s trust. Maybe even Josie’s. And who knew who else’s, when they learned my story.

Or maybe I was angriest with myself, because deep down I knew that the only one to blame… was me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, did you see that coming? I hope not! Or at least not entirely :D  
This chapter marks the beginning of the second arc in LotT, as I see it. Both my darlings acted a bit like idiots there, but I'm sure they'll get past it and finally resolve their issues soon. After a little bit of soul-searching. I'll bring them back together, I promise!


	19. XIX. A Matter of Pride

### XIX. A Matter of Pride

_The Vanguard_

* * *

Stunned, I watched the door fall shut behind Selkie. On the heels of that rather final sound followed the most uncomfortable silence I had experienced in my life. The kind that multiplies and unravels into rooms like a ball of yarn unspooling. Josephine looked at me as if I’d physically assaulted a woman in front of her eyes. Leliana looked grim and uncertain, almost… contrite. And Alec… Alec regarded me with confusion and sympathy warring each other on his features.

“Maker’s _Balls_.”, he cursed, raking a hand through his hair. I wanted to do the same, but I was somehow still frozen in place, unable to move an inch. The truths I had just learned… The things that had been said… My mind reeled, refusing thoughts to align into any kind of order.

“You know Cullen… You could have handled this better.”, Alec said at last, sighing.

I knew that. I knew I had crossed a line. I have been crossing lines ever since I’d met her.

_Hypocrite._

How the accusation had hit the mark, like an arrow through the heart. I had thought that of myself a hundred times these last few months. But seeing her form the word with her own hands was so much worse. I’d rather she’d actually slapped me. But she _had_ lied to me. Kept secrets about her past, jarring ones.

“I should go after her, before she makes a bad decision.”, Alec told nobody in particular. He bundled up the leather around the sword, the pendant and the wooden horse. A childhood toy which had held such a precious place in Selkie’s heart that she had cried a tear at the sight of it.

“Maybe I should talk to her.”, Josie began but Alec shook his head. Some unspoken communication passed between them as they shared a brief look.

“No. I authorized this whole… Whatever it was. Interrogation. Digging into people’s private affairs. What did we gain by doing this, Leliana? Except a whole lot of hurt.” His voice was not exactly angry, but he didn’t like the turn this meeting had taken any more than the others. Leliana straightened, brows pulling I into a frown.

“We gained the truth. I had not expected things to become so… heated. Apparently, this was much more personal to some of us than others. I wanted to discuss this with Selkie in a closed circle, simply get some answers. I had not… anticipated this story.”, she said pensively.

“I was disappointed at first that she had not trusted us with her entire past. But after hearing it… What difference does it make now, that her father was a templar ‘traitor’ a quarter of a century ago? The Order is in shambles. Corypheus saw to that. And if they are ever rebuilt, things cannot return to what they were twenty-five years ago. The way Ariu’s case was handled proves that.”

Josephine’s remark was insightful as ever. But it mattered to _me_. It mattered because I had thought I’d come to know Selkie. Understand her. Now I had to wonder if every interaction we’d ever shared had been somehow coloured by those incidents, or even tainted by them. How could they not? I played things over in my mind, the conversations, the smiles, the lightness and the kind gestures. She’d known I had served under Meredith, probably from the moment someone had mentioned that I’d been a templar in Kirkwall.

_I have trusted you with a hundred other things about me._ But why not this, Selkie? Why keep me in the dark? What did you dread me doing when I learned that your had father betrayed the Order? What right did I have to judge anyone anymore? Or had she really only meant to protect him? I didn’t know, and not knowing was the most debilitating feeling of all.

I had lost control. Over this situation. Over my temper. It was as if my decent sense had separated from the rest of my mind, watching things unfold without it while it laughed at the destruction I wreaked. Like all the other disasters in my life, I had let it get out of hand. But did I ever have control in the first place? I had thought… I had felt… _Something_. As she had looked at me, her eyes stormy and furious.

The determination in that look would have stopped a charging bull in his tracks. It had been the most impossible moment, but I had known a sense of wonder that she would stand up to me with such vehemence, fearlessly. And something else had stirred inside me then… something deep and endless I had no name for. Terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. It was too large for me, that thing. I was not brave enough to face its force.

“Well… I’ll find her and talk to her, in any case.”, Alec interrupted my ruminations. Before I could react, he had left me alone in the war room with Josephine and Leliana.

“Go on, get it out of your system.”, I resigned myself to my fate. To my surprise, the corner of Leliana’s mouth quirked in what looked suspiciously close to a smile.

“I never thought I would see your temper play keep-away with your composure like this. Someone has gotten under your thick skin, Commander.”, she said casually. Josephine drew herself up to her full height, looking even more dignified than usual.

“Stop making light of this, Leliana. He should apologize. He raised his voice to a lady. In Antiva…”

“In Antiva, this heated argument would have ended in a bed, and we would have nothing to worry about.”, Leliana supplied amiably. Josephine’s cheeks blushed with colour, and I myself felt heat rise to my face at the suggestion.

“Maker’s Breath –“, I stuttered, which seemed to please them both inordinately.

“But in light of how it actually ended… Yes, an apology would be appropriate. I imagine Selkie will have one of her own in answer to that.”, Leliana said when she was finished making jibes at my expense.

“I believe so, too. I have never seen her so agitated. This all hit her hard…”, Josephine agreed quietly.

“And you think it is my fault.”, I sighed. My anger was fading, allowing the full repercussions of what I had said to reach me. I felt the sick touch of shame. Maker, what a mare’s nest I’d made of things.

“No, I –“, the ambassador began, but Leliana cut across her briskly.

“It’s not anyone’s fault. Secrets always see the light of day. Better sooner than later, because the longer a truth is concealed, the more damage it inflicts on trust. Hearts willing, it can easily be salvaged.”

“Hearts willing? Leliana… Are you perchance… a hidden romantic?” Josephine sounded outright incredulous.

“How dare you call me names!”, the spymaster countered in a droll undertone.

But I would be denied a chance to resolve this terrible argument with Selkie as easily, which, in hindsight, I should have suspected beforehand. When I made my way across the courtyard a bit later, I just caught sight of her riding through the main gate on Gambit, Varric at her side on his pony. What was the little animal’s name again? Charger.

I realized from a distance that the horses were packed for travelling, not a short leisure ride. Suddenly panicked, I hastened my steps and almost ran into Alec coming my way from the stables.

“Ho there!” He jumped back and put up a halting hand, Paul Cane’s sword held in the other one.

“You let her leave? She’s leaving!”, I blurted, craning my neck to see the two horses traverse the great bridge in a slow trot. I could still reach them –

“Calm down, my friend. I just let her go on a little vacation for a few days. She’s not leaving indefinitely.”, Alec explained in a calming tone.

“But I –“, I began, with no idea how I would finish that sentence. I only knew that I didn’t want her to leave. Not even for a few days.

“Look, Cullen. You know every last thing about rules of engagement in battle. But you’re not on a battlefield here. You’re in the domain of women. And the rules governing _that_ field have yet to be fully understood. It’s littered with pitfalls and traps and… things that will make no sense to you whatsoever.” He said this with an odd, adventurous glint in his eye, as though he enjoyed the very thought of venturing into such hazardous terrain. It worried me a little.

“You make this sound less than inviting.”, I murmured. Somehow, it was not as embarrassing to speak about this with him as with Josephine or Leliana, who both seemed to take diabolical enjoyment from my clueless bumbling.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”, Alec simply said. “Things of worth don’t just drop into our laps without a fight. And a woman’s heart… You’ll slay dragons to get there. Watch the tails. And don’t stand in the fire.”

“I don’t…”, I trailed away, making my friend sigh in exasperation.

“Come on. You and I are past dodging issues, aren’t we? I’ve seen the way you look at each other.” I noted how he said ‘each other’ and not ‘you at her’. But I didn’t quite dare to hang my hopes on two little words.

“How could she ever trust me, with a past so deeply influenced by something I’d once been party to? She called me a hypocrite, Alec. And the worst thing is she has every right to. I trusted Meredith until it was almost too late. If I had been there on the day she decided to make Ariu Tranquil, I would very likely have gone along with it. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about that.”

“First of all, we were both children on that day. And furthermore… Maker help me, Cullen! Why do you keep torturing yourself like this? You are not that person anymore. You are not responsible for Meredith’s actions. She was your superior. She was the one who should have known better. If I ask you today, would you agree to make Selkie Tranquil?”, Alec’s voice had acquired an edge of anger now.

“No! _Never_!”, I exclaimed, horror-struck. “But it isn’t that easy –“

“You’re wrong. It is _exactly_ that easy. By allowing those regrets to fill you with doubt now, Meredith still has power over you from beyond the grave. You stood up to her in the end. You questioned her motives. You helped to stop her.”

“It feels like too little, too late.”, I said remorsefully. Alec threw up his hands in a helpless gesture, nearly bashing me over the head with the templar sword.

“You’re walking in circles! It’s the same age-old question – who started it all? Where did we go wrong? Was it the mages? Was it the templars? Damn, I’m so tired of pushing blame around like an ugly puppy everyone wants to hold but no one wants to keep. I’m not an expert on women. But I can tell you with absolute certainty: Those things don’t matter to Selkie. Not really. You shouldn’t put so much weight on what people say when they are angry. Anger makes us speak out of turn. For her, this isn’t about mages or templars or even principles. She even said so herself: She kept the secret for the sake of her fathers’ wishes. I think she wanted to tell you for a long time.”

_I feared your anger at my dishonesty. And your judgement._ Maybe I had misunderstood those words.

“Why did you let her go?”, I asked quietly. Alec threw a glance at the gates, looking pensive.

“I felt her need for it. Give her a bit of time to work through the turmoil. I sent Varric with her and alerted the patrols to be extra vigilant. She’ll only go as far as Jader. And she gave me her word to come back.” He cast me a meaningful look, and his voice gentled as he went on.

“Caring about someone goes beyond principles, Cullen. Beyond reason, even. It’s a matter of the heart. So, why are you still trying to solve this with reason? It’s clearly getting you nowhere.”

* * *

Why indeed? The conversation stayed on my mind all day, and it didn’t end there. It gnawed on me persistently, while at the same time I marvelled at Alec’s insight. Had my feelings for Selkie been so obvious to everyone? Everyone except the two people involved, apparently. How ironic. I tried to work according to my usual routine, but had difficulty concentrating for too long.

Our two successful operations at Adamant and Halamshiral, during which I had overextended myself to the extreme, had provided us with something rare: A time of relative calm. At least for our military branch. The torrent of messages requiring my attention died down to a normal, reasonable number. Small, even.

Whereas Josephine had her hands full with the spiking influx of diplomatic missives, negotiation papers, treaties and whatnot. I had no doubt this wouldn’t last long. But for a short while, I had remarkably little to do, except morning drills and troop assignments. Even Alec allowed himself a week of leisure, if one could call a few political conferences a day with Josephine leisure.

After weeks of paralyzing headaches, shivers, joint pains and hunger pangs for lyrium, it seemed that I had passed some invisible obstacle in my withdrawal. The symptoms became much less severe, although I would experience most of them still, in weaker versions. My mind often went back to the evening Selkie had made tea for me and afterwards had dampened my agony with her clever hands. I remembered laying my fingers to the ink on her skin, while hers had massaged along my neck, to the back of my skull, finding little knots of pained nerves and untangling them.

I realized – if this procedure had been taught to her by Ariu, he may have used it on Matthias. Paul Cane. The former Knight-Captain must have gone through the withdrawal himself, at some point. There was no shortage of smugglers eager to sell lyrium illegally, especially in the seedier port towns. But somehow, everything I had heard about Matthias until now made me sure that he wouldn’t have allowed lyrium to rule his life. Sooner or later, he’d have stopped taking it. Selkie had likely seen withdrawal symptoms when she’d been younger.

It made sense now, that she could discern the signs so well. On so many nights, she had made it bearable… Sometimes just by her presence. Stories of her perched in the crow’s nest, reading the constellations in a sky with no beginning and no end. Tales about the sun plunging over the horizon in a place so far east, our maps had no name for it.

And sometimes she had lightened the burdens pressing down on me through her caring gestures, no matter how small. I missed her wretchedly. Her absence was a solid thing I carried in addition to the weight of my shame. And yet, for days, I battled with my pride. A man’s pride is more fragile than many might think. And mine was wounded. It bristled and chafed, like rough sandpaper over tender skin.

But at night, a strong yearning smothered everything else. I worried over Selkie being out of sight of my watchful eyes. Beyond the immediate reach of my protection. I hated that. It made me anxious, cagy. Until I wondered what I was waiting for. Why I hadn’t saddled my horse already.

I drove Leliana to distraction with my frequent query “Any ravens from Jader?”, which I parroted to her so often that one day she grabbed a poor raven bodily and shoved it into my hands. The animal issued a mournful caw. I eyed it with a dubious look. The noisy birds unsettled me.

“Cullen, meet Tweaker. Tweaker, Cullen. Tweaker is a bit senile. He loves eating parchment. Why don’t you check if there is a non-existent message from Jader inside his throat?”, Leliana sounded exasperated.

“You don’t actually employ birds who eat their messages, do you?” The addled bundle in my hands began nibbling away happily on the leather of my gloves. Leliana me gave a look that clearly said ‘You are testing my patience’.

“I’m training them to regurgitate on command.”, she remarked sardonically. “Maker, just _go_.”

I sighed and released ‘Tweaker’, but his beak kept a firm hold on my forefinger, decrepit wings flapping to hold himself aloft. I flicked my wrist to shake him off, which only led to a dismayed crow and him landing a moment later on my shoulder. He started grooming through the fur of my cloak. Inane creature.

“He likes you. He’s too… undisciplined to be a messenger raven. You could release him for me, you know. When you go to Jader. Which will be soon, I suspect?” She threw me a sideways glance that spoke volumes.

“I can’t do that.”, I said curtly.

“Certainly you can. I think you are even anticipated. Or maybe _hoped for_ is the better expression.”, Leliana mused, throwing Tweaker a treat. He caught it with uncanny precision, chirping out his thanks. Maybe he wasn’t so inane after all.

“Do you have agents watching her?”, I deliberated, not hiding my scepticism.

“Please, I don’t need agents to know the obvious. Besides, don’t think for a moment that I missed the assignment changes you made for a few of our veterans, so stop acting holier than the Divine.”, she fairly snorted. Then, with a pointed look at me, she added: “Go to Jader and put both yourselves out of your misery.”

I admit, it took a week until I stopped wrestling with my pride and gave in to the inevitable. To add insult to injury, Leliana’s damn bird followed me around everywhere. Maker only knew what he enjoyed about my company so much, because I tried to shoo him away at every chance I got. But even if I shut the door so quickly it should have been impossible for him to swoop through the opening, he somehow always managed to get into my study, one way or another.

I really should have that roof thatched. I suspected he scavenged his own food – I sure didn’t feed him anything. Much later I would find out that Tweaker made regular visits to the tavern’s kitchen, where he received plenty of choice scraps from Cabot (or even Sera).

The bird would mostly stay in close vicinity, and sometimes land on my shoulder without ceremony. In the evenings, he perched on top of my bookshelves, staring at me with his beady eyes. It was disturbing. I thought I saw an eerie kind of intelligence glitter in his black gaze, although I told myself it must be a trick of the light. Still, I started getting the odd feeling that Tweaker was by no measure too stupid to be a messenger bird. Maybe he was too _clever_.

* * *

On the seventh day of Selkie’s absence, I walked into the great hall and found Alec going through some last-minute orders for his departure to the Lion. Leliana, Dorian and Solas stood in a half-circle around him.

The Inquisitor usually alternated which mage of the inner circle he called on to accompany him on his journey as a magical expert (although he was a mage himself, he still always preferred second opinions). This time, it would be Dorian – who had complained at length about already freezing his privates off in Skyhold all the time, and why the next mission couldn’t be to some sunny, cheerful place, like Qarinus.

The three of them greeted me in their own individual ways. I rubbed the back of my neck compulsively, a habit I resorted to when I was nervous.

“Inquisitor…”, I began tentatively. “Since military matters are calm right now… I was wondering… If you would allow me a short leave of absence to pursue a personal matter –“

“Andraste’s mercy, yes. Don’t even finish that sentence, just leave. Walk away. I order you to _please leave_.”, he barked in a mocking imitation of a command. My stunned reaction must have looked funny, because even Solas wore a vaguely amused expression.

“Ehr, I –“ My stammering was cut short by Dorian.

“You heard the man, Commander. Walk away.”

“And don’t come back without Selkie.”, Leliana added further, crossing her arms with such fake gravity, it was almost comical. 

“Thank you…. I guess.”, I said, more than a little disturbed by now. But I did walk away, and not because I had been ordered to do so.

I might have been at odds with myself these past days, but it had always been this way for me. Decisions took long sometimes, but once I’d made them, I didn’t hesitate further. Now was the time for action.

After packing a few things for the journey, I walked through a sun-flooded courtyard to the stables, where I found Dennet waiting beside Shadow. My trusted war horse was already fully saddled and bridled, chomping at the bit impatiently. A smaller, more serene bay stood to his right, also ready to be ridden. I raised my brows in surprise, until I saw Solas stepping into the mews, dressed for travel, a backpack slung around his shoulder. He clucked his tongue at the bay, who came trotting to him immediately.

“It might be a bit abrupt, but I have some personal business of my own in Jader. I thought you might not be disinclined to some company along the road. That is where you are headed, yes?”, he commented, stroking the white patch of fur on his animal’s forehead. It would have been useless to ask him about the nature of his business, private man that he was.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about travelling with him for the day and a half it would take us to climb down the mountains and reach the rolling hills that would eventually slope towards the Waking Sea. Solas and I didn’t exactly have much common ground for conversation, but it seemed very impolite to decline him. Besides – he, at least, would not ask intrusive questions. 

“Yes, I am. And I don’t mind.”, I answered, securing my shield and travel bag behind the saddle.

“I’m glad you’re taking Shadow out for a good, long ride. Fellow has been restive lately. Too long since he last let loose. Gotta allow a spirited horse to run its course from time to time, you know? Otherwise it might skip out on you someday.”, Dennet remarked, throwing me a glance fraught with meaning.

“Wise words, stablemaster.”, Solas agreed as he jumped into the saddle gracefully. I sighed as I did the same.

“Safe travels, Commander. Solas.”

I can’t begin to explain how strange it was to leave the keep without a contingent of guards by my side, although I did sometimes ride down to the soldier camp in the valley below. It just felt like an entirely different thing.

My captains and patrols had been informed about my departure, but I was nevertheless treated to many a surprised face when Solas and I rode through the portcullis onto the main bridge exiting Skyhold. I should have expected it, though. Me of all people taking a leave of absence was unprecedented, even if it was only for a few days. They might have been less stunned if I had attended the morning drill dressed in nothing but my underwear. Or nothing at all.

Solas and I traversed the snow-crested pinewood forest flanking the mountain pass in companionable silence, and I didn’t regret agreeing to make the journey together. The lack of conversation seemed to suit him just as much as it suited me. He was perfectly content just riding along with me quietly, surveying the picturesque scenery around us with interest.

In some way, his sensible consideration for people’s privacy reminded me a bit of Selkie. I wondered if mages with strong spiritual connections had this talent in common. Solas didn’t pry or comment on my relationship (or current lack thereof) to her as others like Dorian or Varric were prone to do – even if their intentions were good, I didn’t enjoy my personal life being dragged out into the open.

For hours, I was caught in a circular argument within my own head about what I should say to Selkie once I arrived in Jader and stood face to face with her. Apologizing for my outburst ranked highly on the list, but I also wanted to understand her motives better. And know more about her past. And her actual views on templars. Which might irritate her, doing more damage than good. So maybe I shouldn’t. But I wanted to. I came to no real conclusion, no matter how much I tried to plan ahead, lay out the course of action.

Alec had been right. This was not a battlefield I headed to, yet it could prove just as dangerous for me. I might still end up stabbing myself in the foot with my own blade if I wasn’t careful. For some time now, I had suspected that this woman had the power to undo me. Held the most vulnerable part of me in her capable little hands. And she likely had no idea. Maker, I never again wanted her to look at me with tears of fury in her eyes. The things the others had said to me on this matter joined the maze of ruminations I walked now.

_Hearts willing, it can easily be salvaged._ I hoped so. I really did. Because the thought that I had broken something beyond repair was… I didn’t even want to think it through to the end.

_Those things don’t matter to Selkie. For her, this isn’t about mages or templars or even principles._ What was it about, then? I couldn’t prepare myself if I didn’t know what to anticipate. My whole life had been about foresight, control, moves and countermoves… Ha! I almost laughed at myself out loud. How had foresight served me at Kinloch? At Kirkwall, with Meredith? About as well as showing up to a swordfight armed with a kitchen knife. Fool.

“_I trust you_.”, she had told me once. On the night of my delirium, she had not fought me. She had approached me when I’d been at my most dangerous, a mad prisoner of my own nightmares. I still bristled at the memory of my fingers wrapped around her delicate throat. Just thinking about it made my insides turn cold with a dread words cannot express. I had _literally_… held her life in my hands. And she had trusted me not to hurt her, had never tried to escape.

Was there any kind of trust greater than that? Keeping a secret of the past paled in comparison. And my temper might have blown that absolute, priceless confidence all to splinters. Sweet Andraste, I felt like the biggest idiot alive. Inadvertently, I hissed out a harsh curse.

Solas slid me a dubious glance from the corner of his eye.

“I am sure it is not as bad as that.”, he hedged in a reassuring voice.

“It’s worse.”, I sighed, by now beyond caring who I confided in. “Have you ever felt like you have done irreparable damage to something you hold dear?” There was a pregnant pause in which Solas stared straight ahead at the road before us.

“I am familiar with the feeling.”, the elf said eventually, his words brimming with a curious, bitter irony. “I think we all experience it at some point in our lives. But the fact we often overlook is… Very few things are truly and entirely beyond repair. Most can be rebuilt.”

“I hope so.”

“You never know until you try. I am not sure what happened, but isn’t there an old saying? ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’?”

I threw him an astonished look, but before I could gather my wits to answer, a forlorn caw from above made me lift my head. Just in time to see Tweaker swooping down on me. The raven executed a less than graceful landing onto my shoulder, chattering at me in accusation. He kept buffeting me with his wings while he made himself comfortable, as though punishing me for trying to leave him behind.

“Great.”, I muttered morosely. “For a bird ‘too senile’ to deliver messages, you have an uncanny gift of finding me.” Tweaker had promptly started grooming my cloak again. It was becoming a habit.

“Friend of yours?”, Solas queried with an amused undertone.

“Rather an unwanted nuisance I cannot seem to shed.”, I growled. My companion – the featherless one – pulled a piece of bread from his backpack and tossed it to the bird, who caught it with all the accuracy of a well-trained mabari.

“He seems to like you.”

“Unfortunately for me, yes. I’m sure I haven’t the faintest inkling why.”, I voiced my plight. Solas rubbed his smooth chin contemplatively.

“Hm… Maybe he was lonely. Or ostracized from his flock. Ravens are social creatures. And highly intelligent. They have no love lost for me, though, for some reason.”, he confessed with a cautious glance at the Tweaker. “You could ask Selkie for a read of his aura. Perhaps she can tell you why he follows you around.”

“Right now, it’s more likely that she’ll sic the bird on me instead…”, I murmured darkly. This time, Solas did crack a smile. 

“I quite disagree with that ominous prediction. But I guess you will have to find out for yourself, one way or another. Some doubts can only be dispelled by the person who caused them.”

As we fell back into our friendly silence, I prayed inwardly that he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this part of the story. Both of them are like "Oh fuck what have I done? Wait, am I in love? How did this happen? I MISS YOU"   
What will Selkie think when he just shows up, hihi (she isn't expecting it at all)   
At long last, they are on the road to acceptance... But was leaving Skyhold really a good idea?


	20. XX. Seven Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm here to read the future_  
_But forced to breathe out the past_  
_And too many conversations_  
_To uncover what was purposefully lost_  
([Seven Days - Azure Ray](https://open.spotify.com/track/17WFd8aNNwTu570VVX0HSx?si=QR2VROwiQgurNN5dJmkGAA))

### XX. Seven Days

_The Weaver_

* * *

Varric proved to be a remarkably undemanding companion. During our journey to Jader, he had kept up a steady string of tales about his many adventures with the Champion of Kirkwall, wryly commenting on the tremendous stupidities he’d experienced both from mages and templars. He told me without reservations that he’d been heartily sick of both factions in the end. I was certain he hadn’t chosen his stories without reason – he was much too clever for that.

My lack of participation in his one-sided discourse didn’t faze him in the slightest, because he knew I listened to his every word. What I had picked up from exchanges between Matthias and Ariu had been tainted by their prejudices, especially against templars. I’d pieced together much of how Meredith had finally met her fate from scraps of conversation between Inquisition members, but hearing it from someone who had been there was yet again a different thing.

I’d known that Cullen had stood up to her madness, but I’d never known that he had actually fought alongside Hawke to defeat Meredith and rid the city of her tyranny once and for all. It wasn’t something he ever spoke about in detail. Lesser men would have peddled such deeds around, expecting their names to be cleared of any subsequent blame. Not Cullen. He had dedicated all his energy into making things right.

Matthias had once told me: “_The true champion of the just does not seek wealth or recognition, harbours no false pride, knows no vanity. An honourable notion. And an imaginary one. Mankind is too fallible, too easily seduced by hubris and greed. I would love nothing more than to be proven wrong. But that day has yet to come_.”

Raised beneath the mantle of such cynicism, I’d never truly believed in chivalry, or nobility of spirit. Anyone proclaiming such already put the lie to their words by doing so. While Matthias had lost faith in humanity, I think Ariu had kept his even through all the wrongdoings he’d endured.

It had been him, not Matthias, who had first brought up the idea of approaching the Inquisition. Seeing a real possibility of change. A potential to do good in our divided world, close the rift the rebellion had driven between the people. And what was more – Ariu had seen the capacity for devotion in my father long before he himself had. I was still not entirely sure it existed.

But in any case, I brooded over these things during the whole journey to Jader and in the days that followed, while Varric pulled every single trick in the book to cheer me up. We passed several watchtowers with vigilant sentries nodding at us as we rode by. Patrols would sometimes cross our path and escort us for a few miles before they returned to their own routes.

I frowned at the odd, curious gazes they sometimes threw me, until we arrived in town and were greeted by a decidedly high number of soldiers from the local Inquisition garrison. They saluted with perfect discipline as Gambit trotted by, and I caught several of them following us subtly into the winding maze of cobbled streets. Varric noticed the confused glances I threw over my shoulder.

“You didn’t really think Alec and General Mother Hen would entrust your safety to me and Bianca alone, did you? If there is one soldier from here back to Skyhold who hasn’t been alerted to your presence, I’ll be dipped in shit and rolled in breadcrumbs.”, he remarked drily.

“They aren’t doing a very good job at being inconspicuous, though. Pups take after their master.” He suddenly turned in the saddle of his pony and called out behind us:

“Hey, lads! Tell the Commander he can get off the tenterhooks. We’re fine.”

I glared at him, but he merely tossed me a wink.

“So, there’s a tavern near the fish-market, I think it’s called Nelson’s Folly. It’s only a stone’s skip from the docks and the sea. Nothing can replace the Hanged Man, but it’ll do. Or would you rather go to someplace fancy? It’s your call, my treat.”

I smiled for the first time since we had left Skyhold. “No, that sounds great. Do you know where the name comes from?”

“I was guessing it came from a fool named Nelson.” I shook my head in amusement.

“There is more to it. I’ll tell you the story when we have settled in.”

Jader was a medium-sized city built onto a stretch of land sloping down into the Waking Sea. Owing a greater part of its rich commerce to the bounties of the ocean, the town boasted a generous harbour, large enough to be spotted from a distance. Ships of all sizes anchored at the meticulously kept docks, beginning from small fishing boats and ending with impressive frigates flying Orlesian flags, their sails neatly tied up.

While Jader lay in Orlais, it was the closest larger settlement to the border of Ferelden, and thereby had a long history of hosting famous political negotiations, as well as being a hub where Ferelden traders mingled with Orlesian merchant lords. One shuddered at the thought how much coin had changed hands here over the centuries, how many treaties had been signed, how many deals made.

Maybe this was the reason why Jader appeared as such a patchwork city, where refinement and practicality melted together to form a boiling pot of two contradicting cultures.

Masked, well-dressed strollers walked right beside men and women clad in rustic plain-weave and fur collars. The buildings were painted in vivid colours such as red or blue, but I spotted intermittent outliers between them, solid constructions of twice-burnt brick and sturdy wooden supports. Often these errant Ferelden edifices had cast-iron signs hung above the doors, pointing to the craft plied beneath their roofs.

As Varric and I rode through the spiderweb of streets, the hooves of our mounts clickedy-clacked out a lively rhythm that mingled with the countless other sounds of the city. A sultry-voiced street performer, plucking her battered old mandolin as she sang for coin on the sidewalk. The steady metronome of a blacksmith’s hammer coming down on his anvil. The clatter of wheels as a fruit-merchant heaved his cart up the hill, prizing his fresh wares all the way.

It was so very different from Halamshiral – although I had to admit that I had only ever seen the High Quarter there and never much of the lower city itself. We rounded another smaller hill, and my heart leapt with joy when I saw the glittering waterscape stretch out beyond the roofs of the buildings.

Since the Tidedancer had been wrecked months ago, I had not been so close to the sea. The sight made some ever-restless part of me go silent and still, basking in our reunion. All my fretting, my worries… For a few moments, they quieted entirely as I watched the swaying waves, this immense force that was so much larger than me. Always moving, changing… and yet it felt as if I had never left.

Inhaling deeply, I tried to make out the familiar, salty scent of the water between all the other, not so pleasant smells a town overflowing with people carried. Gambit seemed to sense my eagerness, lengthening his stride. I’d never been so glad that Master Dennet had taught me to ride than at this moment, when I yearned to reach my destination so badly – knowing my feet would have taken too long to carry me there.

Even compared to the reputable taverns I’d been allowed to visit in my youth (I’d never been allowed into the seedier ones), Nelson’s Folly was very well-kept and clean. As with most taverns, the ground floor was built as one large room filled with tables and seats for the guests, as well as housing the kitchen and counter, behind which shelves over shelves of drink were stacked up to the ceiling.

A round-bellied innkeeper supplied us with two room-keys, after a short discussion between me and Varric, who frowned a bit at us getting separate rooms. I gave him a scandalized look, planting my hands on my hips. He found the sight unduly amusing.

“I know, I know – what would people say? But I don’t think I’m supposed to let you out of my sight, Princess…”, he answered my gesture, growing serious again.

“There are Inquisition soldiers sitting right there.” I pointed at a table in the far corner, where two soldiers in Inquisition colours were sharing a meal. They almost managed not to glance at us surreptitiously. “Nothing will happen to me.” Varric sighed. He knew my need for privacy quite well.

“Alright, but give me the room next to hers.”, he told the tavern owner.

“I’ll have to charge you double if I need to relocate the current resident, Master Dwarf.” Varric waved him off dismissively. With no more than that, our accommodations were settled.

A time of simplicity followed for me. I rose at dawn, as I was used to, and spent the hour or so it took Varric to join me for breakfast in the mews next to the tavern, spoiling Gambit with some much-needed love. Varric and I talked about inconsequential things over scrambled eggs, crisp white bread and salted fish every morning.

We ventured out into the city, visiting all sorts of merchants, peddlers, crafters – from the pungent stalls in the fish-market to perfumed silk-shops in the noble’s quarter. My obsessive fondness for a certain kind of tiny crab soaked in a sour citrus sauce made Varric’s face turn green, and he categorically denied trying one when I offered it to him.

“It’s a delicacy in Rivain!”, I signed, not understanding what his problem was.

“No way I’m eating that. Andraste’s tits. Ugh, what is wrong with you? I can see its eyes!” He gave me a look as though I’d just declared that licking the slimy cobblestones beneath our feet was a good idea. I laughed. More juicy crab for me.

Varric drove me insane by paying for everything – but he would not be deterred, no matter how much I protested. He just kept unceremoniously buying stuff I glanced at with a mere hint of interest. A new scarf died in a beautiful ocean-blue colour; a Rivaini sailor’s spyglass, small enough to fit into the pockets on my belt but incredibly precise; several books that caught my fancy, most of them gaudy romances (I had a real weakness for these – they were my guilty pleasure).

He also bought me a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ in a small bookshop in the trade district, but I persuaded him that I would only accept it if he read his favourite passages to me in the evenings. He agreed.

We went on long walks along the docks. I explained the anatomy of the large frigate-size ships, taught him the names for each sail on the smaller schooners we passed. Although I yearned for it more than anything, I didn’t dare to weave the water in broad daylight. In Skyhold, a show of my abilities would have been safe, but here…

Even if the Red Dragon had sailed off to the East, I couldn’t be sure that betraying myself as a Waterweaver – who was hunted by Venatori – wouldn’t draw the attention of the entire city. And the last thing I wanted was a lynch mob pursuing me and Varric through the streets. The common man would be unnerved and scared of my powers, and it wouldn’t matter that I never used them to do violence. 

During our strolls on the seaside, I also confided in Varric about my parents and their backgrounds, and my fears of having broken the trust of those I had grown so fond of. He listened patiently, his easy-going demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic gravity.

“The rogue templar and the mage sentenced to Tranquillity… Kind of redefines the term ‘star-crossed lovers’, doesn’t it?”, he mused thoughtfully. “But, Selkie… Things went down the crapper anyway with the damn rebellion. It’s two decades in the past now. That was then, and this is now.” Pausing for a moment, he seemed to deliberate carefully what he said next.

“When I met Cullen – what was it, eight years ago? – he had a giant stick up his ass. But he never tried to beat mages into submission with it the way Meredith did. That was one crazy shrew. She might even have seen reason, hadn’t it been for the damn red lyrium singing its song of doom to her. I wish I could go back and smash that idol to pieces, so it would never see the light of day. I’m not stupid. I know I could never have foreseen the whole disaster. Still, I feel responsible. And if I do, how do you think a man such as Cullen feels about what happened, with that bothersome moral compass of his?”

Varric gave me a painfully direct look, his golden eyes more serious than I had ever seen them. His steady gaze imparted on me that I should think long and hard about his question. I heaved a sigh that felt like it was made of a dozen smaller sighs, each for a different reason. Did he have to make me feel so ashamed of my behaviour? Then again, he only spoke the truth. I couldn’t very well berate him for that.

“Exactly. I might make fun of him all the time, but Cullen learned the lessons of these ‘interesting’ times we live in the hard way. Got abominations thrown in his face, then a trusted superior went batshit insane on him. Most people who have seen what he saw would be lying in the gutter, drunk off their asses seven days a week, all-year round. The fact that he emerged from all that with most parts of him intact – do you know how rare that is? To still have hope. Faith.”, Varric said, and now his voice rang with something peculiar… Something that sounded like awe.

“Is this admiration, from my cynical cornerstone?”, I signed in astonishment. He shrugged one shoulder in a casual manner.

“Of course I admire him, silly woman.” It seemed he couldn’t refrain from adding grudgingly: “Don’t ever tell him I said that.” Seeing my cheeky grin, he shook his head.

“Forgive the poor man, Princess. There will be no living with him if you don’t.”

The smile faded from my face, and for a time we walked in complete silence, both lost in our own thoughts.

While the days were spent roaming the city with Varric, my nights were dark, endless hours of solitude. Sleep eluded me, although the bed in my tavern room was nearly as comfortable as the one at Herald’s Rest. I tossed and turned, unable to find rest. My mind kept returning to the many times I had been one step away from telling Cullen my secret, and I kept asking myself why I never took the chance.

_Coward_, said my conscience. I was always running from something, fleeing my problems rather than facing them. I had perfected this strategy to the point where my mind even fled from memories it didn’t want to remember, pushing them somewhere so far into the depths of my subconscious that I couldn’t find them anymore. It took more sleepless nights than I am proud of until I admitted the truth to myself.

I had fled the anger of the man who had stolen his way into my heart, but not because I feared his judgement. I feared what that connection meant to me. What he meant to me.

Fear comes in many different shapes: the suffocating panic I felt every time I woke from nightmares of being burned alive; the naked terror when the figurehead of the Dragon had split us in twain. But there is nothing like the paralyzing dread of losing a person you love. A very piece of your soul, torn from you. I had lived through that once already, and the pain was still not entirely gone. Perhaps it would never be. I didn’t know if I could bear going through it again.

But I’d grown tired of running from my fears. So incredibly tired. And I had a strange trepidation that I had long passed the point of no return. I was in too deep. Drowning in a different kind of misery, a bittersweet one. My heart bled with a helpless longing nothing could quench. I craved his closeness so intensely that I burned with it, locked inside a body that _felt_ too much. Whenever I managed to nod off into a fitful sleep, I was assaulted by feverish, lewd dreams.

Maker knows my imagination didn’t lack for wickedness. It seemed ages ago that I had felt that primal hunger stirring inside me, when I had roused Cullen from his nightmare. The night I’d gotten a taste of his passion, unbound. The night he had covered my body with his, whispering secrets in a voice spun from lust and desperation. I cursed him for awakening this dangerous, wild side of me, while at the same time I wanted to keen out my unfulfilled desire to the skies.

Whenever I was ripped from my slumber in this way, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Only one thing helped to dampen my yearning, soothe my heart’s mad gallop. In the darkest hours of the night, I went out to visit the sea. Wrapping myself with my winter jacket, pulling the hood over my head, I slunk out the tavern’s back door and walked the distance to the docks like a ghost slipping through the shadows. Silent and stealthy.

I would sit down onto the wooden planks beneath the waning moons and pull off my boots, letting my feet dangle into the water. It was wintry cold, but at least that cooled my heated, out-of-control qai a little. In these quiet moments, I wondered what Cullen and I had even been fighting about. Did it really matter? Could I have resolved it if I had explained the situation more? My mind had been so clouded by anger… I wasn’t angry anymore. I was lonely. Hollow.

I don’t think Varric ever noticed my midnight getaways, and I must admit that I felt a bit guilty for leaving without telling him. The nocturnal atmosphere at the docks was, to be honest, quite eerie, and I sometimes imagined hearing more sinister noises in the darkness than the familiar rush of the waves.

But I never stayed very long – only a few minutes, allowing my qai to gently join the sea’s vast waters. My mind floated along her surface, and she rocked me back into balance softly, so softly. As she always had. Sadly, the comfort the sea granted me never lasted very long. Night after night, the delirious dreams came back, gaining more force and saturating me with longing again. I became fidgety and more skittish than a woodland deer, constantly tugging at clothes to alleviate the tingling sensation on my tattoos. My odd behaviour didn’t escape Varric’s notice.

We had been at Jader for nary a week, and I was ready to rush back to Skyhold. On our seventh evening, Varric and I sat together in the tavern over dinner and cards. Staring my irritation into dead space, I plucked at my collar when I caught him frowning at me strangely.

“If you keep that up, you will rip the seams.”, he remarked, taking a sip of his ale. “And you lost the last four games.” I’d lost because I was distracted by the nagging feeling that something was about to happen. A nervous energy had taken hold of me, and it refused to be shaken off.

“It just… doesn’t feel right. All itchy.”, I signed automatically.

“That’s highever weave, Selkie. It’s not the fabric. You have been getting more jittery by the minute. What’s eating you?”

The thing was, I didn’t know. I’d been even more restless today than the days before. During our sojourns across the markets, the back of my neck had prickled with awareness several times. As though… as though unseen eyes were watching me, following my every move. Waiting… I had glanced around frequently for the source, but had never found any indication of something unusual.

A problem of this bustling city was that I had to pull my qai very closely to myself, otherwise the plethora of auras would have overwhelmed me. But doing so also left me blind to possible dangers. It was like walking around with both eyes nearly closed. I trusted Varric to protect me, and also the pair of veteran soldiers who subtly tailed us everywhere. And yet…

“Are you still with me, Princess?”, Varric brought me out of my musings. Uneasiness made me shift in my seat, wishing I had taken the chair facing the tavern door instead of turning my back on it. I felt exposed without an exit in my immediate sights. The tavern was full to the brim today, almost every table occupied by sailors, craftsmen or regular customers enjoying a drink after a long workday.

“I think I would like to go home.”, I told him morosely. Maybe the city was beginning to wear me out. The constant noise of too many people talking over each other, the door opening and closing every few minutes, the innkeeper calling out his orders to the kitchen, the raucous laughter… I had escaped here with the hope that the many voices might drown out my own thoughts, but now I suddenly wanted them all to be quiet. Varric regarded me reflectively for a long moment.

“I understand.”, he said at length, his voice subdued. “We will pack up our things tomorrow and promptly return to Skyhold. I am afraid we cannot set out sooner than that. Night has already fallen.”

“That’s alright. Tomorrow is fine.” I heard the tavern door open and close yet again. A quartet of trade apprentices all raised their cups, toasting their friendship vociferously. The ink on my back tingled, making me rub the itchy part against the back of my seat.

“Disappointing, though… I was so convinced…”, I caught Varric mumbling under his breath as he shuffled the cards. He looked up at me briefly, then his gaze trailed off into empty space. Something flashed in his eyes for the fraction of a second before they settled on me again. A lopsided smile curled one corner of his mouth.

“Actually, scratch that…”, he said more loudly this time. “I don’t think we will be playing another round today.” For the life of me, I couldn’t fathom why he sounded smug all of a sudden.

“We won’t?”, I signed, my brows retreating up to my hairline. “Reading your book, then?” He shook his head.

“I am afraid not, Princess.” Now I stared at him, baffled. And then I heard the floorboards creak beneath purposeful, assured footsteps. A single thought overtook all others as the familiar sensation broke over me like a crashing wave: _Hunted_. No, not quite right. Not hunted like prey. _Pursued_.

I nearly fell out of my chair when Cullen materialized from thin air beside our table (or so it seemed to me). My mouth dropped open like a trap door. The cup I’d just lifted slipped from my numb hand, clattering to the ground. I was literally struck senseless by his appearance. He stood there at full height, the entire six-feet-something of him. Lamplight glanced off his silver armour, streaking his hair with tiny veins of molten gold. As if he had just stepped out of a painting depicting some great battle.

I had trouble believing that he was really here, and not an image conjured up by my scrambled brain. It seemed laughable that the Inquisition’s general would do something as pedestrian as walking into a crowded tavern on his own. He looked out of place here, without Skyhold’s indomitable walls surrounding him, without his tower study and that uncomfortable monstrous chair behind that even bigger oak desk. People stared at him, likely with the same dumbstruck expression I wore just then.

But Maker, the man looked tired. Had he travelled the whole way without stopping? Worry darkened his sculpted features, especially on his forehead and around the corners of his mouth, lips drawn into a severe line. His amber gaze perused me methodically, as though he was cataloguing every little detail anew. Matching it to memory. Checking if everything was still as he remembered. I did the same, although I had to blink several times to make sure he wouldn’t disappear like a mirage.

This was real. But it couldn’t be. But it was. I was caught in an unending loop of two irreconcilable thoughts colliding with each other.

“Well.”, Varric said, incapable of holding his silence. “This is a whole new level of awkward.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuh. I'm finally at this point... By the way, this chapter was incredibly fun to write. Varric and Selkie on "vacation" together, the description of Jader as I imagine it, the conflicting feelings as Selkie deals with some of her problems, and then that shock at the end!  
Varric and Selkie together are just... man I love it! She's so at ease with him, bringing out her sarcastic and light-hearted side, and a certain dry wit. But she also looks to him for advice. Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the "cliff-hanger". Whoops. :3


	21. XXI. Needle, Needle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have stayed with me for this long... here's one roller-coaster of feelings, coming up.

### XXI. Needle, Needle

_The Weaver_

* * *

“Fancy meeting you here, Curly. Out for a night on the town? Having a drink?”, Varric broke the lingering silence lightly. Cullen’s gaze swerved to him only for the time it took to deliver a scowl fierce enough to burn a hole into a lesser man. The dwarf merely smiled, ridiculously pleased.

“Not a word from you.”, Cullen growled before he brought his attention back to me. It was a bit dazzling, the way his face immediately softened. Like looking into a very bright light. Or directly into the sun.

“Selkie.”, he said, bowing as deeply as if I was royalty. Panic made cold sweat break out on my nape. After all that had happened, I should have felt that I deserved the gesture. But no. It felt all wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this. A burning heat crept up my neck which I recognized as shame. My gaze dropped to the floor as I signed his name, with each individual letter spelled out. The intensity of the whole situation had me all up in knots, fairly vibrating with anxiety.

“I –“, Cullen began, then stopped to clear his throat. “I am glad to see you well. Is there somewhere we could… talk? In private?” It was Varric who answered before I could.

“There is a cosy little square. Right through the back door.”, he said, jabbing his thumb in the direction.

Cullen glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded. He gestured for me to go ahead. I noticed then that he had not entered alone after all – two capable-looking men came at his heels, their blades and armour well-concealed by inconspicuous cloaks. Silent sentinels whose faces were unreadable. Cullen pushed open the door for me, and together we stepped out into the chilly night air.

Shadows greeted us, the waning moons obscured by an overcast sky tonight. There were no tavern windows on this side of the building, but some light fell in from the single street lantern on the other side. Neatly painted two-storey houses encircled the small plaza on all sides, with narrow alleys leading off into the dark spaces between them. The shutters had already been closed.

I had crossed this square several times in the last week on my secret sojourns to the docks. Or maybe they hadn’t been so secret at all. As Cullen led me a few feet further onto the polished cobblestones, he turned to me with a frown and said the following:

“It was dangerous for you to venture out alone after nightfall.” My lips parted as I stared at him in surprise. Which seemed to warm him considerably, since a slow smile spread across his face.

“I would never take chances with your life.” He inclined his head towards the two sentries. As I looked at them more closely, I realized that these two weren’t the same ones I had seen following Varric and me around town.

“They are the finest in their regiment. Experienced at being unseen. I hope they have been on their best behaviour.”

“I never noticed them.”, I signed, still stunned by all the thought he’d put into my protection even while he’d been far away.

“You were never supposed to. They were there to guard from a distance, not crowd or curtail you. If you didn’t notice them, they have done their job well. But now…” He trailed away for an instant, giving the soldiers a curt nod.

“Leave us. Eyes on our flanks.”

They saluted him in perfect unison, before walking away in two opposite directions and disappearing within the dark alleys. I was certain they only went far enough to be out of earshot of a quiet conversation, but still close enough to hear a command. Even someone as clueless as I could see how well-trained they were. But that shouldn’t surprise me by now.

Cullen faced me again, his thorough gaze settling over me like a blanket. The military demeanour faded from his features, making way for a quiet tenderness that crept its way into my wayward heart. I lifted my hands to sign, but he caught both of them at once in a light grip. Leather slid over my skin, along the edge of my forefinger.

“Wait… Just… Listen to me for a moment. If you distract me, I might get it wrong.” His voice was low and urgent. “The entire way from Skyhold to here, I racked my brain what I should say when I arrive. There were a thousand things… Apologies, questions, explanations… But to be honest – right now, all I can think about is how lovely you are.”

Sometimes, silence says everything language cannot express. I felt my lips tilt into a smile as I looked up at him. I had long lost my shyness about meeting his gaze. Such eyes he had! Amber and bright gold, framed by a dark ring. Lambent with the brilliance of life. He lifted a hand to my face, his thumb touching the small dimple on my cheek.

“You are smiling.”, he said with a kind of amazement I couldn’t comprehend. As though I’d just gifted him with a kingdom and a crown.

“What did you think I would do?”, I asked, tilting my head as I signed. Cullen mulled this over for a time. The chilly night made my breaths appear as tiny white puffs in the air between us, and I subconsciously rubbed my arms to chase away the cold. Should have taken the time to put on my jacket…

Seeing my suppressed shiver, Cullen unfastened his cloak without much ceremony. An instant later, the heavy fur collar was draped around my shoulders, the fabric still saturated with body heat. At my modest height, the seam nearly touched the ground at my feet. He spoke quietly while he tugged the folds together beneath my chin.

“I pictured several lively scenarios where I get increasing amounts of water thrown into my face. It went from a few buckets to half the sea.”

I gave him a blank look, shaking my head as I sidled my hands free. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t move half the sea.”

“Oh, well… There is always time to find a new ambition.” The distinct note of humour in his tone made me pucker my brows at him.

“Cullen. Are you jesting with me?”, I accused, trying hard to look serious and possibly failing. His features turned solemn quite suddenly.

“Maybe a bit, to… lighten the situation. Maker knows I am not the most articulate man in the world.”, he sighed, hands now moving up and down my arms, leaving delightful tingles in their wake as they rubbed warmth back into me. I didn’t cringe from the friction on my tattoos. Cullen was familiar by now. Safe. He had touched me so rarely before, and often so far in between, that I had always secretly wondered if my sentiments toward him were doomed to go unrequited.

Something was different about him today. Until now, every time we had gotten close, he had retreated at some point. Our relationship had always been moving in a continuous push and pull between inevitable convergence and hesitant distance.

I had not understood it until I’d realized the source of my own indecision. The fear of getting hurt. Of having something to lose. Maybe he had similar doubts… He was human, after all. Even the bravest person on earth does not walk through life without fear. Bravery doesn’t mean living without fear, but living despite of it.

I had told him once that he shouldn’t always regret. If I thought back on all the things I knew about Cullen, I would have to say that this was his one greatest flaw. His regrets, always guiding his hand. His chains, always tying him down. He felt responsible for things that were out of his control, and therefore funnelled his entire strength into things he _could_ control, without consideration in which state he would ultimately emerge from it.

He worried about everyone and everything while bristling at having anyone worry about him. Stubborn, troublesome creature. It didn’t matter. I still adored his pure qai, untainted by ugly feelings of vanity or selfishness. This close, it was all around me, filling my senses, enfolding me within his warmth.

“What are you thinking, when you look at me like that?”, Cullen asked softly. “I never know. Could it be that you are not angry with me?”

I shook my head in gentle denial. I wasn’t angry with him. Not anymore. And besides, it had never truly been about that. His features hardened, jaw tense.

“Then you should be.” His voice had acquired a bitter edge. “My display that day was despicable. I said terrible things to you.” I exhaled a breath.

“I said terrible things to you too. Are _you_ angry with _me_?” Posing his own logic back to him made him scowl in a manner he only ever seemed to employ with me. I loved that scowl. It was mine alone.

“No.”, he simply said. “I came here, hoping to persuade you to come back home.” Home. Not Skyhold, but _home_.

“I hoped… you would forgive me for acting like an idiot when you –“

“Stop.” My sign was fierce. Cullen broke off mid-sentence, his mouth closing with an audible snap.

“Let me explain.”, I went on, undeterred by his motion of protest. “I am sorry too. Truly sorry. I did lie about my father. You were right… He may not have been a _kind_ man. But he was an honourable one. He stayed true to his values when it mattered. Protected Ariu from further hurt, and did everything to keep me safe. I was raised within a small circle, Cullen. I never knew much about the complicated world beyond. My world was governed by humble things: Loyalty. Family. Safety.”

“Those are not humble things, sweetheart.”, Cullen rebuked me gently. “Those are some of the strongest foundations ever built.” I thought about that for a moment.

“Perhaps you are right. When I came to Skyhold, with my old life in pieces, I was shown that my father’s views were simply wrong. I had believed everything he had told me. The more I learned, the more I understood that Matthias was a bitter man who let his mistrust cloud his judgement. But he was family. He and Ariu. The only one I had ever known until then. I owed them everything. We do not abandon those we love just because they are flawed. Made mistakes. I couldn’t…”

I took a shaky breath, struggling to master my emotions. My hands were unsteady, and I tried to calm them by flexing my fingers.

“Hush… I understand.”, Cullen soothed. “I truly do. I am so sorry for the thoughtless things I said.”

But I wasn’t done yet. I had to tell him the rest, so long as I still had my courage bolstered by his closeness. Squaring my shoulders, I continued more steadily.

“These were my reasons at first. But then I got to know you. You were what Matthias said templars _should_ be. You proved him wrong. And not just you, but the Inquisition you helped to build. So, I learned another lesson, again. And at some point… things became all muddled. It wasn’t about those lofty ideals anymore. It was _personal_. I feared that if you knew the truth… you would look at me differently. That you would see me as yet another tragic example of the mistrust between mages and templars. I never wanted to be a cause for regret, to burden you with more of it. I never wanted that damned conflict to corrupt _us_. For a flawed past to poison our…”

I froze, suddenly realizing what I had just signed. Too late. 

“… future?”, Cullen completed it for me, his voice a mere whisper by now. His head tilted sideways slightly as he bent down, making me gasp when he let his face come to rest against mine. Cheek to cheek, his forehead at my temple. Rough jaw against my smooth one. One hand sliding to the small of my back, pulling me closer. His breath, stroking down the skin of my throat. I shivered, not from cold this time.

This… touch was so stunningly intimate, I can hardly put it into words. Deeper than anything we had shared before. It felt as though by this gesture, he gave a part of himself over to me for safekeeping. And at the same time, something left him as he exhaled deeply, riding with the air from his lungs. Something he had held on to for many years, unable to let it go. Now it went away. Going, going, gone. I had the impression that he smiled to himself.

We stood together like this, in the quiet night, just… taking each other in. For how long, I honestly don’t know. Seconds. Days. Years. 

“You were never a cause for regret.”, Cullen said eventually. “I didn’t regret kissing you behind the arbour. Neither at Halamshiral. Not even what happened on the night before Adamant. I was mortified by my… let us call it _fervour_ to soothe my conscience, and not the attack that it actually was. But I never _regretted_ it. Did you?”

I wanted to ask him if he’d gone insane, throwing me such a question. I wanted to yell at him that by all that is holy, why wasn’t he kissing me already?! But I never even got as far as to shake my head no.

“Actually… Don’t answer that. Let a man keep one wonderful delusion.” His lips skimmed across my cheek until they found my mouth, and aye, he did kiss me. And how. It was perfectly balanced between passion and tenderness, a bone-melting blend of both. He smelled like wood-smoke and horses and just… Cullen. He tasted like ginger root and sweet, sweet sin.

His tongue coaxed my lips apart, and I opened myself entirely to his exploration. I held nothing back, matched his advance with the same demanding desire. We grappled with each other for a moment, seeking a middle-ground. Until the kiss became settled, a shared victory, a closed argument because its point had been proven: This was exactly as it should be. Necessary. And long overdue.

My hands came up on their own accord to touch his face, fingertips ghosting over the rough bristles on his jaw. Such a fascinating texture. Coarse and soft at the same time. He breathed a content sigh into our kiss when I continued to his neck, and then further, threading my fingers into the silky hair at his nape.

Maker, I’d waited for this for an eternity, it seemed. For him to give in to this pull between us. It was like coming up for air after the longest dive of my life. Like the rush of exhilaration when a ship gained its full speed, flying across the waves I commanded. It had always been my greatest source of courage, that moment when my heart told me I could go faster yet. Farther, and farther. To the place where the horizon touched the sea.

Emboldened, I tugged him closer. Slanted my mouth over his to find a better angle, draw him deeper. Touched my tongue to his, chased him, taunted him. I think my reaction surprised Cullen, because he let out a low groan and his arm tightened around me. His free hand caught my nape, cradling my head. But his mouth turned ravenous all of a sudden, plundering mine, delving into every little recess until I was thoroughly and entirely drunk on him. I felt his infallible control slipping.

It was in the way he drank in my very essence, as if he was dying for more of it, to go deeper yet, to the core. As if he wanted to be inside me. I shook with the sheer carnality of that thought. He had said so himself, hadn’t he? Confessed his longing to me when he’d been at the edge of sanity. I knew that if he went on kissing me like this, I might try to climb him like a vine right here, in some back alley behind a tavern on a cold winter night.

He shifted just a little, and then the undeniable proof of his desire was pressed into my lower stomach, searing right through the layers between us and into my skin. Hard as steel, hot as burning coals. Male. Healthy, aroused male. I gasped. He groaned, long and painful. That sound went straight down to the throbbing emptiness at the junction of my legs. Maybe I was a wanton woman, shameless. I didn’t care. I wanted him. All of him. 

To my great frustration, he broke our kiss a moment later, leaving me bereft. Even in the winter chill, I felt the heat radiating from his body. The force of will he’d summoned to pull away was evident in the tremble of his hands. His breath was uneven, but then again… so was mine. Our huffs mingled to ghostly little clouds in the tiny space between us. His lips were wet and parted, the slope of his high cheekbones flushed.

His throat rippled with a swallow, and I couldn’t resist touching my fingers to the vulnerable spot where his pulse leaped beneath the skin. Racing along just as quickly as mine. Cullen’s face wore an expression of self-deprecating amusement, but his eyes were still blazing with passion.

“I never could keep a level head when it came to you.”

I wanted to smile. But exactly in that moment, a frisson of primal fear slithered down my spine. A thousand tiny ants, crawling from the crown of my head to the small of my back. It came from an instinct as old as life itself: Survival. Danger was near. My qai reared its head and sniffed the air like a startled creature that had scented the approach of a predator.

_Hunted_. This time, the sensation was very real. The hunter was closing in. I felt a mere whiff of an aura, moving as stealthily and as elusively as billowing mist across murky waters. Hiding in the shadows. Every hair on my nape stood to an end. A muffled sound came from the alley to our right. Something heavy hitting the ground. The quiet aura of the soldier who had stood guard there was extinguished. More quickly than a candle being snuffed out.

I grabbed Cullen’s arm at the same time when his head snapped up. His entire body stiffened with tension, going from a relaxed to high alert within mere seconds, the life-long warrior’s instincts pushing forth to take charge. His deadly longsword slid from its scabbard before I could even blink. I groped for the other veteran’s qai. And found nothing. He was gone. I hadn’t even felt him die.

“Get to the door.”, Cullen said. His voice was calm. Controlled. But I caught a flash of fear in his eyes when they passed over me, before he turned to the alley. It gaped like a maw of utter blackness at us. When I didn’t move at once, he gave me a one-handed push and slid his body in front of mine. Somehow I knew that whatever would come out of that alley, it would have to go _through_ him to get to me.

“Selkie. Go.” It was an order. I scrambled towards the door. The idea of disobeying him didn’t even cross my mind.

I got as far as two steps before the utter void descended. There was no sound. But all of my senses suddenly erupted with a screeching agony so stunning, it made my knees fold in beneath me. My qai was struck blind, deaf and mute. It felt like a thousand hooks of barbed wire were pulling at it. Tearing me apart. Shards of glass driven into my head, breath slamming in my lungs. My magic stuttered and suffocated, expunged.

I was hit by a surge of distortion, and it rendered me utterly useless. The ugly wave of anti-magic flushed across the square, washing up the building walls, creating a dome around us. Then the pain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but my qai stayed deadened. Cullen caught me before I could fall over. Whatever this horrible… spell was, it seemed to have done nothing to him.

“Disruption field?! But –“, he snarled, yet the sentence would forever go unfinished. I heard a faint whistling noise. Something flew across the square in our direction, launched from the alley’s dark mouth.

Cullen moved more swiftly than I thought humanly possible. I was pushed out of harm’s way, protected by the solid wall of his body. His sword scythed in a lightning-quick arc, shattering the silver projectiles our unseen attacker had fired at us. With a series of plink-plink-plinks they rained unto the cobblestones, and I saw what they were.

A dozen long, thin needles, glistening and twinkling maliciously in the lamplight. Cullen’s breath left him in a hiss, and I lifted my head just in time to see one of those ugly pins sticking out at the side of his neck. Clenching his teeth in a grimace, he pulled it free, throwing it to the ground. It was coated with blood. My stomach lurched when I saw how deeply it had gone, and for an instant I thought I would vomit. I knew a mad, nameless dread. Needles could be poisoned. Poison could kill. What if –

“Tsk.”, a silken voice made both of us flinch, rooted to the spot. “Templar reflexes. How irritating.”

From the shadows melted a tall, sinuous figure, clad from head to toe in a jester’s costume. A woman, her nimble, soundless step betraying that she was accustomed to moving among the living like a clandestine phantom. Passing unnoticed in the middle of a crowd. Delivering death without ever leaving a trace.

Her fool’s motley was held in black and muted grey, the only shred of colour being the red gloves covering her hands. Which both held long, lethal daggers, glinting in the scarce lamplight. The sight was disturbing. It looked as though she had washed her hands in blood. A beamless black mask obscured her face, decorated with an arrangement of raven feathers.

Harlequin. I’d seen the dead body of one at Halamshiral, being taken away after Alec had dispatched the Venatori assassin through a window. This one looked slightly different, much less colourful, but the style was still the same. So was her intent.

“It’s useless to call for help. The dome dampens everything. You cannot escape.” The harlequin lifted one dagger, pointing it lazily at Cullen.

“The woman is ours, southern dog.”, she said, her timbre husky and sinful, yet just as icy cold. I couldn’t see much of Cullen’s face, but I saw his shoulders bunch, the tendons of his neck drawing tight. One could have cracked rocks on the chiselled line of his jaw. He was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Ready to kill.

“I beg to differ.”, he bit off the words one by one. The assassin sighed as though she found all of this really tiresome. 

“He said you would be stubborn.”

Cullen kept his poised stance, but a shiver of unease went through him.

“Who? Who sent you?”, he demanded harshly.

“Oh, come now. I can’t tell you that! Besides… You’re a clever man, aren’t you? How many ‘old friends’ do you have who have moved up in the world lately?”, the harlequin mused in a light tone, performing a quick sleight of hand with one of her daggers. The blade seemed to dance in her grasp, an unequivocal demonstration of her skills.

My heart turned over in my chest, insides growing cold with fear. This was a killer as efficient as they come. But… my brain nagged me with the question – why send an assassin for me? Didn’t they want to capture me alive? Maybe so, yet… She wouldn’t hesitate killing anyone who stood between me and her. Which meant –

“Samson. He is behind this? What does he gain?”

I realized that Cullen was trying to buy us time. Maybe the disrupting field would lose power at some point. Or someone in the tavern might notice something was wrong. Varric. Varric was still in there. He might realize that we were gone for too long. But if not… I felt paralyzed, numb. I couldn’t fight, couldn’t use my powers to help Cullen. I cast my gaze around frantically for a weapon, a stick, a stone – anything. There was nothing.

“Ah, it’s not quite as cut and dry as that. See, I’d love to get chummy with you, _Commander. _But my employers are getting impatient. And I have been living in this foul country for months. Waiting. No matter how much you plaster shit with gold, it doesn’t turn into a nugget. I am loath to spend another second here, breathing this disgusting southern air. I will ask you one time. Step aside.”, the harlequin hissed, her tone gone flinty.

“I have not been ordered to kill you. But neither have I been forbidden to dispose of you if you get in my way. Most of my… _colleagues_ were reluctant with this contract, knowing you would likely get involved. Something about hearing of your _heroics_ at Adamant. What is all the fuss is about, I wonder?”

Cullen’s deep, savage growl raised every hair on my nape. It was the quintessence of menace, that sound.

“Last chance. The woman. Hand her over.”

A few minutes before, Cullen had kissed me with all the adoration in the world. Now I saw the same man smile like a predator. All teeth, not a modicum of humour. When he spoke, his voice was one I did not recognize. Steel and fire, implacable.

“I am afraid you’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands.”, he gritted, before his head swivelled around halfway to look at me over his shoulder. “You stay in my cover. No matter what. Is that clear?”

I nodded instantaneously. The edge in his words brooked no objection. _No matter what_.

“Heart-warming. Time to meet your Maker, southerner. I crave a challenge.”

I had the impression that the harlequin smiled behind her mask. And then she lunged. Within the blink of an eye, she was upon Cullen, who parried the first whirl of daggers so quickly I hadn’t even seen him move. The sound of steel on steel reverberated through the tiny alley like a ringing bell as the two of them engaged in a dance of death.

Cullen turned his blade to counterattack, but the harlequin somersaulted out of reach, pirouetting back in to strike at his flank. He sidestepped the twin stab, but only barely, one dagger grinding across his breastplate dangerously.

I pressed both hands to my mouth as I watched the duel unfold before me in breathless horror. I’d seen Cullen train countless times. But those had been practice fights, and against soldiers. Not assassins. The inevitability hit me with gut-punching force. This was a real fight. To the death. A vicious clash of two professionals, and neither would stop until the enemy was eradicated. One of them would die. I wanted to scream.

But all I could do was watch, staying inside Cullen’s cover as he had commanded me to. The harlequin danced away from Cullen’s strikes, always evading the broad sweeps of his sword, then coming back to deliver a dizzying array of slices and stabs. Lithe as a tumbler, evanescent as smoke. Too clever to meet her fully-armoured opponent head on. She went for the vulnerable parts instead – the unprotected patch at the bend of his arm; the back of his knees, slicing at the hamstrings; the throat, completely exposed, open; he wasn’t wearing a helmet.

But they were evenly matched. For a man of his size, Cullen moved with such deadly grace, parrying blows where I already saw him bleeding out on the ground in my shock-frozen mind. Sidestepping her cuts and forcing her to retreat again. This went on for an eternity, or maybe mere minutes. I was so wildly overstrung that I had no sense of time whatsoever.

And then it all happened so fast. The harlequin twirled in for another double-edged assault. Cullen feinted to the right, leaving his left side exposed. One dagger missed his throat by an inch as he turned elegantly to evade the blade. It skittered over his shoulder guard, but at the same time the harlequin’s second weapon sliced across his thigh.

I knew a moment of singular terror when Cullen sagged sideways, his injured leg bending at the knee. Blood welled from the cut. He made no sound, no exclamation of pain. His physical mastery would have been a thing of marvel, if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

And then he pulled a trick I would never forget. Because I would never quite comprehend _how _he did it. Hand moving so quickly it was a blur to the eye, he inverted the hold on his sword so the blade faced towards him, and then slammed the hilt pommel-first into a spot beneath the harlequin’s ribcage. Striking the susceptible part below the breastbone, at the pit of the stomach.

The force of that blow would have been enough to shatter bones, or at least make any normal person keel over unconscious. The assassin yelled out her pain in a hoarse shout, one dagger slipping from her hand as she held her insides and hunched over. I thought she might retch.

“Bastard!”, she screeched, swinging the weapon she had left in Cullen’s direction, but the pain seemed to sap her dexterity. The strikes were erratic and imprecise, allowing Cullen to deliver a slash to her dominant arm, which made her lose the only weapon she had left. She fell to her knees, holding her guts. It must have been sheer agony, but I felt not an ounce of pity.

Breathing heavily, Cullen picked up both daggers, throwing them into some unreachable corner. He was limping on his injured leg, blood soaking through the fabric of his breeches. A lot of blood.

“What kind of… templar are you… playing dirty like that?”, the harlequin wheezed, her voice fractured now, interrupted by gasps. She wasn’t breathing well at all. Cullen pointed his sword at her, the tip only inches away from her heart. Fleeing was out of the question.

“No kind at all. I am no longer a templar. You try to take what is mine, I am free to play every dirty trick in history to protect it. Lose the mask. And take down the sphere, _now_.”

The steel in his tone might have been sharper than any sword. With a slow, deliberate movement, she obeyed the first command. Shaky from pain, her hand reached and pulled off the black mask, revealing to us a woman with angular, hawkish features. Her sable eyes flashed with defiance. Without warning, her head whipped around to her shoulder and she tore off a piece of fabric with her bared teeth.

“_No_!”, Cullen yelled, rushing forward to grab her around the throat. I didn’t grasp what had happened at first, until I saw the harlequin bite down on something small, swallowing it. She laughed then, the high-pitched, out-of-control cackle of a madwoman. I stared. Poison. She’d swallowed poison.

“_You don’t get to die, damn you_! Tell me why! What do you want with Selkie? The Venatori, Samson, what are you planning?!” It frightened me, the near deranged ferocity in his voice, the wobble in his legs, the broken breaths he drew. He didn’t sound like himself at all. Something was wrong.

“Hehe… You should know… I never kiss and tell.”, the harlequin said, her eyes glazing over, unfocused. “Oh, I see it now… You met with one of my needles. Pretty little things, aren’t they?”

Cullen’s hand went to the side of his neck, where a thin trickle of blood had meandered down his throat at the spot he’d pulled the needle from. He frowned at the tips of his gloved fingers when they came away reddened. 

“I’ll die in a minute. No interrogations, no pain. Clean exit. Part of the job, right?”, the woman crooned, smiling hideously. “But you… You’re in for a wild ride. A dead man walking. The poison… was made for her.”

She tossed her head in my direction. I stood frozen in place, my hands still pressed to my mouth. A queasy, horrifying feeling rose inside me like a tidal wave.

“_Blood of Elya… Strong is she… Break her will… Unleash the sea_.”, she chanted these haunting words, and it was a chilling sound, an otherworldly tune. “You, though. You have no idea… what you’ve gotten yourself into. Weak. Unbalanced. You’ll die… in madness.”

Probably the most dreadful thing yet was the utter stillness with which Cullen took this news in. He inhaled once, then out.

“There must be an antidote.”, he said heavily. I wasn’t sure if the harlequin heard him, because her eyes were now rolling up in their sockets, leaving only the whites. An outright eerie sight.

“_For every lock, there is a key… I had strings… but now I’m free_.”, she hummed as her head lolled to the side, her body going limp.

A single, soft breath left her lips. And then she moved no more. With her death, the disruption sphere shattered and dissolved with a faint, far-away sound. My magic was released from its bonds, the stupor I’d been in breaking at the same time.

I rushed to Cullen, who had let go of the assassin’s corpse. He staggered, legs shaking, shoulders quaking nonstop. Sweat had broken out on his brow, his throat. His eyes were pivoting around erratically, as though he could not fixate on anything.

I needed to get him inside. Right now. He looked ready to collapse on me. I shoved what the harlequin had said out of my mind as I braced Cullen’s body with my own, slipping beneath his arm. I wedged my shoulder to his side, wrapped my own arm around his waist. The unyielding metal of his armour hurt. I categorically ignored it. If I allowed the fear in, it would break me to a thousand pieces. He needed me.

_Stay focused_, I whipped myself to concentrate. _You can lose your shit later._ One thing after the other. He leaned on me, unable to support his own weight. Shit, he was heavy. And large. The sheer bulk of him nearly buried me. I pushed up against him, the violent tremors making it even more difficult to keep him steady.

“I… am not well. Everything… feels wrong.”, he groaned from above. The exertion had me huffing and sweating after the first few steps, and the door to the tavern was still a dozen or so away. I gritted my teeth.

“Selkie… Sweetheart.”, Cullen spoke again, his voice already fading, weak. I was losing him. _No. No, no, no. Stay with me. You stay with me now, or I swear_ – “I’m sorry but I think… I’m going to fall.”

That he still had the presence of mind to warn me was nothing short of a miracle. Nonetheless, I fell along with him when he suddenly tilted sideways, fainting dead away. Like a slow-sinking battleship, or a mountain toppling, he went down. And I followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear oh dear, shit got real >.< don't be mad at me! I gave you tooth-ache-sweet feels before I brought on the disaster, I know I'm so cruel :<<<   
Despite the dramatic turn this chapter took, I loved describing Cullen's duel against the harlequin. I could finally show off his fighting expertise, and whenever I look at the scene, I am really happy how it came out. I revised very little about it. I hope you enjoyed it (again, sorry for the cliff-hanger :x :x)


	22. XXII. Untethered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments and the many kudos after the last chapter! They are one big reason for me to keep writing <3   
Without further ado, let's see how things develop after the dangerous harlequin attack. Have fun reading :))

### XXII. Untethered

_The Weaver_

* * *

Somehow I managed to curl myself around Cullen’s upper body, keeping his skull from cracking on the cobblestones as we both fell.

The impact slammed all air from my lungs, stunning me. Stars danced across my vision. I hit the ground forcefully, pain exploding in several places – my shoulder, the arm wrenching in its socket as his weight came down on me. A sharp pang in my hip, another at my lower ribcage. Something might have cracked there. No air. No strength. No voice. So fucking useless! Why was I so weak?! I needed to be stronger, now more than ever!

Tears of frustration, hurt and fear stung my eyes. My qai reacted on instinct. Inside the tavern, every single jug of water overturned and spilled out its contents. I heard cries of surprise and one very distinct curse. Even through all my pain, my fingers searched Cullen’s throat for his pulse. It was there. Too feeble. Too fast. The next I knew, the door burst open and Varric stood there with Bianca raised and loaded.

“Shit!”, he exclaimed when he took in the scenery that greeted him. The dead harlequin at the centre of the square. Cullen on the ground, unconscious, with me half-lying beneath him, squirming. “Andraste’s great flaming ass! What happened here?!”

He was with me in a heartbeat, showing remarkable strength when he lifted Cullen enough for me to scramble free. Only a moment passed before I saw Solas in the doorway, several soldiers at his heels. My mind didn’t even question why he was here, too. I stayed on my knees, signing as quickly as possible without my gestures becoming unintelligible.

“We were attacked. Assassin. Cullen fought her. She killed herself to escape capture. But he was hit by a needle… Poisoned. Meant for me.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Solas did a quick circle around the plaza. His hands moved constantly as he went, magic flowing from them in one continuous river. It took less than a minute until he returned and kneeled down at my side. He let his palms hover above Cullen’s prone body and cast a spell I knew well. I’d seen him do it dozens of times when he’d helped the healers to examine the sick and the injured. Searching for what was wrong in a quick sweep. While he did this, Varric spoke to the soldiers.

“Vacate all patrons from the tavern, and fast. Close down the area. The Commander has been hurt, he’s unconscious. Find a litter, real or make-shift, I don’t care. Build one if you have to. Tell the innkeep he’ll be paid for everything. We have a dead Venatori assassin on our hands and we don’t want people to panic.”

They obeyed him at once. I kept my hand pressed gently to Cullen’s neck, feeling for his qai. It was… wrong. Just _wrong_. Like looking at a distorted picture, something drawn by a person whose mind did not follow any normal, understandable patterns. A lunatic. It scared the living daylight out of me.

“Selkie.”, Solas’s call was quiet, but rang with authority. My eyes snapped to his. “I need you to tie that cut on his leg. It’s not that deep, but not harmless either. Use your sleeve.”

I reacted at once, yanking brutally at the sleeve of my shirt until the seams ripped at my shoulder. A stinging pang shot through my side. Everything hurt, but I was master of my own pain. I hammered it down viciously as I tore off the fabric and did as Solas had asked.

Having the life of the person you love hang in the balance does odd things to your senses. Mine heightened unbearably, perceiving every littlest detail with a vivid sharpness. The metallic scent of blood. Warm wetness at my fingertips. Sliced flaps of leather, soaked. People moving around me, within the tavern, being ushered out. Solas murmuring soft incantations at my side.

The sight of blood had always made me a little queasy, but now I only knew the clinical precision of my fingers as they tied the cloth. I was water. Cool, detached, carrying the boat stuffed with my worst fears just above the surface.

“Good.”, Solas said when I was finished. “You felt it too, the… disturbance in his spirit? The poison’s work.” I nodded once. “We have to get him inside.”

We both looked at Cullen’s face. It had turned sallow, a layer of cold sweat on his features, making his damp hair stick to his neck. His breaths came in tiny, interrupted wheezes.

“Maybe she had an antidote on her?”, I signed in mad hope, glancing reluctantly at the harlequin’s corpse.

“Yes, that might be.”, Solas murmured. Varric returned again, with soldiers carrying a litter at his heels. While they loaded Cullen onto it, Solas and I stood. The elven mage gave me a piercing look.

“I will search the body. Go with him. The two of you… are close?” I nodded again, decisively. “He is slipping. Try to keep him with us.”

The hard truth, blunt as a cudgel. No beating around the bush. No sugar-coating. Solas had never been one to mince words or give false comfort. While panic threatened to cut my heart in twain, I tried to breathe through it, centre myself. I bobbed my head a third time.

Cullen was carried up to the tavern’s first floor, right into a master suite which had been hastily cleared of guests, judging by the chaotic state of the room. I fleetingly wondered if the previous residents had protested much. The men deposited Cullen’s limp body on a large, double bed.

A maid was flitting around, putting things to rights, bringing new sheets and other items I paid no attention to right now. The soldiers helped me with removing Cullen’s armour. They spoke quietly to each other while they did, as though I wasn’t really present, a ghost among them.

“A single cut couldn’t have brought him down.”, one said, voice strained. “I saw him fight at Adamant after he’d dislocated one shoulder.”

“I saw that too.”, the other weighed in, sounding equally awed and scared. “He killed two shades with one strike and barely winced. Tough bastard.”

“Yeah. I remember thinking: That man is too stubborn to die. Death would just spit him back out, and he’d keep fighting. To see him like this…”, his partner trailed off, and they both looked at their unconscious Commander, disconcerted. I slammed my fist down on the nightstand. They startled like pigeons rousted from their perch.

“_Shut. Up.”,_ I signed so fiercely they just gaped. The soldiers didn’t understand my signs as well as the people who talked to me regularly, but some things are universal across languages, no matter if signed or spoken.

“Sorry, my lady.”, the first one said, his tone contrite. Thankfully, they left a bit later to stand guard at the door. Cullen lay on the bed, unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His boots had been removed, but they had left his breeches alone. His upper body was only covered by a simple dark tunic now, a type of undershirt he always donned beneath his armour. I cautiously pulled off his gloves, placing them onto the nightstand.

I had rebuked the soldiers, but only because they were regurgitating my own line of thought to me. To see such a strong, tenacious man so helpless… Shivering, his skin feverishly hot and damp, his beautiful face pale and twisted. As though he was suffering horrible pain. I took one of his hands into both of mine. Gently, caressing the skin roughened by years of wielding the sword. A jagged little scar ran along his palm, its ridges standing out against the softer flesh between thumb and forefinger.

How did one get a scar in such a peculiar place? I had never asked him. I had never asked him how he’d gotten the one above his upper lip either. Or what his favourite food was. What he hoped for in the future.

So many things I didn’t know. So many things I might never know. I reached for his qai with my own, my life-force to his, as I had done when I’d cured his lyrium headache once. Confused, all scrambled… Still wrong on a fundamental level, his aura was a mad disharmony of images I couldn’t grasp. He seemed to elude me, slip through my fingers, drawing further away.

Waterweavers touch their spirit to water when they summon it, but a living, breathing soul is something else entirely. Water is simple in its design, easily understood, without need for conscious thought. Intuitive. But a person is an incredibly complex construct of emotions, memories, thoughts. The human mind is the pinnacle of nature’s intricacy. A thing perfected over thousands of years, yet still fallible.

You don’t simply rummage around in someone’s greatest sanctuary like a child in a destructive tantrum. The smallest mistake could do irreparable damage to the spirit, yours or the other’s. Leaving both participants insane, or worse… There was only one possible circumstance in which a Waterweaver would truly join their qai to another’s. The ritual of balance.

The ritual… No. Even if I would make such an outrageous attempt – my fathers would have been furious at the mere thought – the risks were numerous. Cullen was not a weaver. His qai might reject me. And even though Ariu had taught me the procedure, that didn’t guarantee that I would do it flawlessly. A crucial part of me was missing. I was not enough. What a bitter realization. 

“My lady.”, the maid brought me back into reality. “I have heated water and linen dressings here, if you would like to bandage the wound properly. I brought needle and thread, and scissors too.” I nodded my thanks absent-mindedly, taking inventory of the items she laid out. There was also a jug of clean water, small towels and a bottle of what felt like strong spirits to my senses.

I wasn’t a healer by any stretch, but I had bandaged many an ugly cut in my time on the Tidedancer. It was easier for me to see where things needed to be mended. So I went about treating the wound on Cullen’s thigh, while the maid hurried around the room quietly, arranging Maker knew what.

Using the scissors to cut carefully through the leather of his breeches, I severed the entire lower part of his pant-leg, pulling it off and throwing the soiled thing to the floor. Cullen stayed deaf to the world, senseless.

I untied the make-shift pressure bandage I’d made with my sleeve and examined the cut. It was high on his thigh, on the outward-facing side. Maybe five inches long. Clean slice, no jagged edges. But the flesh gaped open like a hideous grin, although it had stopped bleeding by now. Definitely needed to be stitched.

I prepared needle and thread, disinfected both with the spirits, then soaked a small towel with the alcohol too. Cullen twitched and hissed when I dabbed the wound, his hands clenching. But he never woke for a second. The burn of the spirits must have momentarily reached him in the limbo he’d drifted off to, yet his aura stayed as distorted and wrong as before. I repeated the cleansing ritual with warm water. Not taking chances of the wound suppurating later. It needed to be clean. Then I began stitching with great care.

This work calmed me. A little, at least. I was doing something useful. Occupied my hands. Kept the fear at bay, the dam threatening to break and unleash it all upon me. My lower ribcage still hurt fiercely. I still groped for Cullen’s spirit constantly, repeating an unending inner mantra of ‘Stay with me’s and ‘Keep fighting’s. I doubted it did much. He continued his forlorn wandering, lost in the labyrinth of a fractured mind, a maze within a maze within a maze. I didn’t know how to stop it. So I kept stitching.

I was almost finished when Varric and Solas entered the room. They both came to stand at opposite sides of the bed, while I jabbed the needle one last time, pulling the thread tight.

“How is he?”, Varric asked, his voice subdued. I tied off the thread, cut it, and signed two words before taking a strip of bandage.

“Getting worse.”

I found a small pot of salve among the utensils the maid had brought. It smelled of cloves and ginger. Herbs to fight infection. Good. I continued my work. I was a woman obsessed, barely registering anything but my goal. I might have gone a little mad.

Somehow I thought if I did this right, he would be saved. We all deceive ourselves that way. Thinking that controlling a tiny part of a thing will grant us control over all of it. A silly delusion. _Let a man keep one wonderful delusion_. Had that been today, or a million years ago? I gasped, breath stuttering.

“Selkie.”, Solas called on me, sounding troubled. “There is something you need to see.”

I made a halting gesture to him. Didn’t he see that I was busy here? What could be so important to interrupt me now? I wrapped the linen meticulously around the stitched cut, now coated with the salve. Tugging the cloth in place. Securing the ends carefully.

“She’s in shock.”, Varric said softly.

I dreaded the moment when my hands would have nothing more to do, fidgeting on much longer than necessary. A weight settled on my shoulder. Fingers squeezed gently.

“_Da’len_. You are done. I need you to focus on me, please.”

_“One day you will leave us, da’len. Find your own fate. Walk your heart’s path to where I cannot follow you. Neither should I.” _

_“I would never leave you, Dad.” _

_“Of course not. But destiny always comes calling when you don’t expect it.”_

_“What does that mean?” _

_“That you are meant for more than this. I taught you the boundaries of our magic, but you will travel beyond them. It’s in your blood. Trust your own strength, Selkie.” _

My hands stilled. I lifted my eyes to Solas, who held my gaze with such gravity that I couldn’t look away.

“We found no antidote on the harlequin. But she carried this.”

As he held out his palm, I saw a small crystal vial, hanging from a long silver chain. It looked similar to the one I’d made for Cullen, except… The liquid inside it glowed in a blueish hue. Like the bright azure waters of distant shores, coral bays illuminated by brilliant sun-shafts. What dwelled inside that tiny ounce of water was a part of me. No, rather… an echo. But still mine.

“I see you recognize each other. It is… a fraction of your voice. She used it to track you down.”, Solas explained.

“You’re shitting me. Her voice is in there? Tracked down… Like templars and mage phylacteries?”, Varric interjected.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. But simply put – yes.” Solas dropped the vial into my outstretched hand. “Break it, and you will regain your voice. But it will only be temporary. This is a small piece, a mere echo. It will hold for a few days, maybe two weeks at the most. For it to return permanently, we will need to find the original phylactery where it is held. But –“

I didn’t wait for further explanation. Flexing my fingers, I told the water inside the vial what to do. _For every lock, there is a key_. Aye, it made perfect sense now. The knowledge of my way forward assembled within me, crisp and clear, as the liquid spilled onto my palm. This was the key. With a voice, I could reach out. It would have to be enough. Released from the magical binding, a streak of bluest blue evaporated into the air. I breathed it in, letting it whoosh down my windpipe.

It meant something more than I could express in words, that a piece of my voice would be returned to me now. At this urgent time. At this crossroads of choices. _Walk your heart’s path_. Ariu had been right. I had to trust my own strength. His wisdom would guide me, as it always had. I exhaled, long and filled with relief. The two people sharing this moment with me hadn’t moved an inch. Wetting my lips, I forced a swallow down my parched throat. Then I spoke. For the first time in months.

“Thank you, Solas.” It came out wonky, gritty from disuse. Like the tingling prickle when sensation returns to a numb limb you’d slept on. But it was my voice. Varric’s jaw dropped. And dropped. I don’t think I’d ever seen him speechless.

“And Varric. Thank you both for helping.”, I said, gaining certainty. “But I need to ask you for even more. Cullen… is dying.” I stopped, my eyes inadvertently drawn to his face. He’d once said he would like to hear my voice, and now he hovered at the edge of the abyss instead. Because he had protected me. Fought a fight that should have been mine. And that was really the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? The injustice I needed to correct. The odds I needed to even out. Varric and Solas didn’t utter a word, but they were instantly alert.

“The poison is unravelling his mind. It’s like… How do I say this? Like uprooting a tree, chopping it up and scattering the splinters into all directions. We all keep a certain balance in our minds. A soundness. And despite all he has been through, he is saner than most. But…”

“But he is not a Waterweaver.”, Solas commented. Of course, he would understand the difference. “You would have survived it. But it would have left you open, vulnerable. Which is exactly what the Venatori want you to be.”

“Aye.”, I affirmed. “He… is deteriorating, fast. I will not stand idly by and watch him die. Not after he saved my life. I must try to save his. I need your help. To perform the ritual of balance.”

A short, laden silence followed my words. Solas gazed down at me in consternation. Varric’s face was blank.

“Ah, I have absolutely no idea what that means.”, he said.

“_Da’len_… You know how difficult it is to perform the ritual, even with preparation. The Commander is not a weaver. Not even a mage. What you intend to do… It could kill you. Both of you. You have no means of predicting the consequences –”, Solas spoke reasonably, but I cut him short.

“I know the risks. And everything you say is true. But I can think of no other way. Look at his spirit. You saw it, too. He is sliding deeper into some… broken maze of madness. Do you know any spell against that?”

He stared off into the distance as he seemed to file through countless possibilities.

“None that we could perform here, and within the timeframe we have. You think you can balance the corruption with your qai.” His fathomless gaze settled on me again. “Selkie. You are the last known Waterweaver. If you do this and you die or are left insane, the future of your kind will die with you.”

Future. How telling that he would say _future_. None of this was a coincidence. It was meant to be. Closing my eyes for an instant, I watched that future unfold before me in vivid pictures. The war won, the great enemy destroyed. Cullen smiling triumphantly as I stood by his side. He was finally at peace, his eyes no longer trained on the mistakes of the past but on the new journey which lay ahead. I saw him standing at the seashore, looking out over the waves, a great city rising behind him on the distant hillside. His lips on mine, a tender, exultant kiss to seal the vows binding us together for life.

I saw us home again, years from now, after showing him great and exotic parts of the world he had never visited before. I saw us sit together before the fireplace, as I leaned over to whisper the most wonderful secret into his ear, watching how his eyes lit up with a singular joy. I saw myself chasing a tiny, golden-haired figure across a wide sandy beach, my own laughter trailing behind me, carried out over the water by a salty, summer breeze. That future could be mine. But only if I didn’t fail. Only if I made the right choices.

Taking a breath, I blinked away a stray tear and gathered myself. I pointed a finger at the body lying on the bed. To my great surprise, my hands were steady.

“My future is lying right there. If I _don’t_ do this and he dies, it is already lost. I _will_ succeed.”

Solas looked at me for what felt like an infinity. Then his head gave a near imperceptible nod, almost fatalistic. My heart soared. Before I could say more, Varric spoke up.

“Would anyone care to fill me in?”, he demanded, sounding irritated now. “You two keep talking gibberish about weird shit. Don’t leave me out of this. If we are saving him, I want to do my part.”

“When I was twelve years old, my father Ariu tattooed my skin in a ritual of balance. It makes me nearly immune against possession, because I keep myself… stable. The ink is a constant reminder not to tilt too far into one direction or the other. Right now, Cullen is tilting. Like a ship tipping over, he’ll sink. I will perform the same ritual, although to a smaller extent. My spirit, stabilizing his. I will write a piece of myself onto his skin.”

I walked around the bed and examined Cullen for an instant, then pulled a chair up to his left side. As I scanned his body thoroughly, I searched for an optimal place. Left arm. That would be best. Not the dominant side, because the skin would always be more sensitive where I’d written on it. But it needed to be close to the centre of his qai. Which was his lion’s heart.

“You will give him a creepy soul-mate tattoo like the ones you have, got it. What do you need?” I threw him a quick glance, and even though the situation was so dire, I felt almost like smiling. Varric was a true friend. He never even thought of doubting me. I knew I could count on him.

“I need the ink and a tattoo artist’s needle. More of these strong spirits for disinfection. More towels and warm water. And…”, I paused, gulping. “We need to restrain him. When this was done to me, I had prepared myself for weeks. Centred myself. Still it hurt. A lot. And I was in _my right mind_. We do not have either of those luxuries.”

“There was a tattooist in the market district.”, Varric said, already shouldering his gear.

“I remember… Aye, that will do. Make sure he gives you good quality ink. Pay him a king’s ransom, if you have to.”, I instructed sternly as I cut the sleeve at Cullen’s left shoulder with the scissors.

“Princess, don’t teach your grandmother how to suck eggs. What do you think the merchant guild does all day? Sit on our hands and count farts?”, Varric griped in passing. I did laugh this time, I couldn’t help it. The lovable fool always made me laugh. I was infinitely lucky to have them both at my side for this. An instant later, he was gone. Solas hovered a bit longer, then turned to the soldiers at the door.

“Send word to Skyhold. What I tell you now goes directly to Sister Nightingale, and nobody else. Do you understand?” I listened to his quiet instructions with one ear, while preparing myself. After having bared Cullen’s arm, I cleaned every little patch of skin on it methodically, several times. I spoke to him as the warm, wet towel moved over corded muscle and sinew. Of inconsequential things. Silly nonsense.

I talked for the singular reason that my voice might reach him, and he would be more inclined to stay in the world of the living. With me. Purpose fuelled me, drowning out my anxiety. I would succeed. Failure was not an option. Solas returned with most of the items I needed, except those I’d sent Varric for. He took a seat across the bed, surveying my preparations.

“Why the left arm?”, he wondered as we waited for Varric. I let my eyes wander along Cullen’s arm.

“I don’t trust myself getting too close to vital organs. Ariu might have done it, but I am far less proficient. It has to be a safe place, but still one that connects to his qai well. Besides, the inked skin will always be sensitive. Chafe easily. Especially the first few weeks, it will distract him and feel uncomfortable. He favours his right side, writes and wields the sword with his right hand. I want to avoid causing any more discomfort than this will already give him.”, I explained, then indicated an imaginary line over his shoulder to the heart.

“There is a belief in some cultures, that the ‘heart-line’ arcs from the centre along the left arm. Rivaini sailors tattoo the names of their sweethearts onto the left bicep, you know. It’s a good luck charm.”

“Good luck charm… I hadn’t thought you to be superstitious. You were only a pirate in name, after all.”, Solas said, sounding almost amused. I slid him an exasperated look.

“What I will attempt here is as close to tempting fate as things get. Are you faulting me for taking any good luck I can get?”

He gave a quiet laugh, which baffled me. “No, _lethallin_. I just worry that you are risking too much. The Commander is a good man, but… You also have a legacy to preserve. One that lives and dies with you.”

So gently, I flattened my palm to Cullen’s chest, right above his heart. My fingers caught something under the fabric of his shirt. Small, hard. The pendant… The talisman I had given him before Adamant.

“What does that mean, ‘preserving a legacy’?”, I wondered absent-mindedly. “I don’t really know. I know the words, and the meaning, but I can’t really… grasp it. _Feel_ it. What do you think went through the head of the first man who picked up a sword to protect his family from marauders? Did he think of some high concept? Some great principle? I doubt it. I think he thought… I am what stands between those I love and ruin. Everything else came from there. Love, overcoming fear. What is worth fighting for, if not that? The prime ideal, from which all others grew.”

Solas looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. Then the arrested expression faded, and he smiled, so faintly.

“What is it?”, I asked, frowning.

“It feels good to be proven wrong.”, he said with an uncharacteristically… light undertone.

“You enjoy being proven wrong?”

“Not in general. Only concerning choice issues.”, Solas answered shrewdly.

“Have I ever told you how strange you are?” I wondered, cocking my head.

“No. Am I? I like to think of myself als original.”, he countered, his severely drawn brows rising. I managed a thin smile, which was a lot, all things considered. Over the months, he had become a mentor, in some ways. He and Ariu would have had so much to talk about. I sighed, directing my attention back to the daunting task which lay ahead of me. I was pushing the limits.

“This will change you.”, Solas said quietly. The words weren’t meant to scare me, he was simply stating a fact. Yet still, he sounded regretful somehow.

“What is it with you and change?”, I queried.

“Me and change? Nothing… Change is inevitable. The very concept of time implies change. No, it’s just… I liked you the way you were when you came to us.”

I cocked a sceptical brow. “Timid and clueless?”

Solas shook his head. “Genuine and blameless.”

I blinked rapidly, not sure how I should take his comment.

“I _wanted_ to change. When I arrived, I was full of grief. Lost. Afraid. It’s better now. I have more room for other things. I have strength. And I need that now.”

I looked at Cullen’s face, but I didn’t see the sallowness of his cheeks, the sick, pallid complexion, the dark shadows beneath his eyes. I saw him smiling at me, that slow, tender smile smoothing every line, thawing all frozen places. A joyful smile. Happiness in its simplest form. His heartbeat was an erratic, jerky staccato beneath my palm as he battled death in utter silence, alone. Nobody had ever fought for him. But I would. And I would win, because every other option was unthinkable.

_“Just a bit longer. Hold on. I will be there soon, and fight this with you. For you. We will emerge victorious, or possibly die trying. But we’ll do it together.” _


	23. XXIII. Soft is the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for updating a little late and not answering your comments until now, but I had my final exam yesterday and I was completely out of it until then :D  
This chapter is a little "trippy" in the beginning. I tried to describe the way Cullen felt the effects of the poison, and the complicated spiritual side of the ritual - i hope it came out alright. (By the way "Violent delights have violent ends." is a reference to the same quote from Shakespeare, which is also referenced in the series Westworld. I listen to the [Westworld Soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/album/2poAUFGkHetMzM4xzLBVhY?si=rJGtak5RTni1NqTWZlY9PQ) a lot while writing)

### XXIII. Soft is the Wind

_The Vanguard_

* * *

_“Just a bit longer. Hold on. I will be there soon, and fight this with you. For you. We will emerge victorious, or possibly die trying. But we’ll do it together.” _

Everything was _wrong_. Turned inside out. Gone topsy-turvy outright wrong. Time was space, and space was time. Up was down. Life was death. But that voice was right. I had never heard it before, and yet it was somehow so familiar. A light skipping across treacherous waves, always skirting the danger, always dancing between the depths and the sky. I held on to that voice as the world crumbled around me.

No muscle moved, no sense obeyed me as it should. A bird’s hideous shriek cut through me like a blade, and it reverberated inside my head, on and on, amplified a thousandfold. Something burned through my body more swiftly than dry leaves caught in the flames, ripping open the seams of my mind. Slicing the neat order to ribbons. I had worked so hard to keep that order. 

Kinloch all over again. But also nothing like it. I walked a giant hall, its glass dome shattered to innumerable pieces. Within every single shard I saw part of myself, fracturing and unspooling into eternity. Mirrors upon mirrors upon mirrors. I was drowning in space. Too much space, endless and hollow. I wandered outside of time, a stranger in a labyrinth of broken glass.

“Get that damn bird out of here. If it contaminates the place, we’re deep in shit.”, someone said. A series of caws followed, or maybe mad cackling, or an ear-splitting discord. I couldn’t decide which.

“He’ll just come back. I don’t think he’ll do anything. Somehow, the two of them are grudging friends. This bird might be cleverer than you. Definitely cleaner.”, another said. I called him Reason.

“Oh Chuckles, I highly doubt that. I know how to use a comb. Which can’t be said about either of _you_.” He was Wit. Sharp and cutting.

“I’m bald.”, Reason argued.

“Exactly. If you’d used the comb right, you wouldn’t be.” An irritated sigh was the only answer to those caustic words. This all felt familiar. Right. Why could I not go there? Why couldn’t I find my way back? I drifted, a leaky skiff bobbing over black waves in an infinite ocean. Homeless. No guiding star.

“Help me tie this restraint.”

That. That was the voice from before. So close, it hovered just out of reach. A warm caress, so dear to me. Softness. Acceptance. I almost remembered that I had a body, and where all the pieces of me were. Had it not been for the chains pulling me down all of a sudden. I was sucked into a slipstream of horrible images – memories, twisted beyond recognition, plastered chaotically together until they formed one unending string of anguish.

I was in Uldred’s prison, screaming, broken, defenceless. No, I was Uldred himself, a demon chewing its way through my insides. No, I was the demon, pushing into a living creature, driving my claws into it. Coveting what I could never have. Violent delights have violent ends.

I was a door blasted out of its hinges, hanging askew in dead space. I was madness, the last man standing in the remnants of a battlefield stretching to the horizon. My dreams had disintegrated around me. And my last hope for salvation lay dead in my arms. Her blue eyes stared blindly to the stars she would never see again. I couldn’t bear it. It was too much.

I wanted to flee away from the horrors I saw, because nobody could live through that and remain intact. What is a man without a soul, but an empty husk?

The black void beckoned me, whispering that I could end it all. Just let go. Cut all strings. Let loose all tethers. Leave behind all earthly woes. They were just shackles anyway, keeping me inside the prison, forcing me to watch the cacophony of deranged thoughts.

I fell away from the pain, into an inky night sky that was for some reason below instead of above. Quitting the utter mess of my mind. I grew smaller as I fell, waning. Disappearing. A strange, far-away song reached the ears I didn’t possess. Welcoming me. It was perfection. Free of human error, devoid of suffering. Would I look upon the face of my god now? Would the Maker judge all my mistakes, and cast me out for being undeserving? Would I see the gates of a golden city?

But… was I done yet? Couldn’t I still fight? Did I have something to fight for?

“Stay with me.”

My descent stopped. Something held my heart, held me suspended between the web of terrors and the nothingness below. A mere thread. But it was forged from a substance untearable, that thread. Strong, adamant. It didn’t allow me to drop into the abyss.

I was so loved. Loved for myself alone, even though I had no recollection of what _being_ _myself_ meant. Unquestioning love. Devotion defined. The most beautiful thing in the world. I was unworthy of it, but all I wanted was to throw myself at it and weep. When had I last cried? Eternities ago. In another life.

_“Pull me back.”_, I begged. “_Pull me back into the right place_.”

“I have to begin now. He has no more time left.”

I cannot fathom why, but the voice and the thing holding my heart were connected. The same? If only they would come closer. I might remember then. Who I was. What I was. I would know how to put myself together again. How to reach back along that golden thread. Pull it through the eye of a needle, and weave the whole tapestry of me anew. Weave… I couldn’t weave. Could I?

“Are you prepared, _lethallin_?”, Reason spoke. His words seemed to multiply, grow, germinate. He was unknowably _large_. “We only have one chance to do this right.”

“I am ready. Keep the Fade around us calm.”, Love said. She sounded on edge, anxious. But it was hidden somewhere very far back, almost imperceptible. I didn’t know how I knew, and yet knew that I did. Fade… That word rang a bell somewhere, distantly.

A moment later, I knew another thing. There must be a physical state of me somewhere, because I experienced a burning pain. Going beneath skin, relentless. Jabbing, jabbing, jabbing.

Once it began, it didn’t stop. A part of me was being carved, written on, pierced. Hundreds of needles. Thousands. I wanted to scream my agony, but Love spoke again, taking away some of the blinding pain with her closeness.

“Please keep him immobile.” Her voice betrayed pain too. I didn’t want her to be hurting. Not ever. That was a certainty I could hold on to. At the same time, she somehow spoke in a different way, _somewhere else_. Somewhere… within the house of my frayed sanity.

“_I am so sorry for this, Cullen. I know it hurts. But it will save you. Stay with me. I’m begging you_.”

Cullen. That name ricocheted around the giant, empty space in me, splintering into other names. Knight-Captain. Commander. Vanguard. I groped for the connection to those names like a man trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.

“How long will this take? I can’t hold this big brute forever. Shouldn’t he be too out of it to fight us?”, Wit hissed. A hesitant silence followed. Nobody spoke, so he piped up again.

“What is it? Why is she stopping?”

“Because she has never done this before. Don’t pressure her.”, Reason answered calmly.

“Take your time. Steady.”

“I… I am alright. It’s just – Maker, he’ll hate me for _invading_ him like this. He’s in so deep… Has retreated so far into himself… I need to dive in fully.”, Love said, her voice trembling. I wanted to hold her, chase the fears away, tell her it was alright.

“You are saving his life. He will understand.” Reason deserved his name. I realized then that they were in a different place, which I decided to call _There_. While I was trapped _Within_.

Love’s keen sting had ceased, but now it began anew. The thread keeping me from falling strengthened as the pain peaked, and then… the gentlest pair of hands reached for me. Searched through the broken pieces, the maze of twisted memories. Searched for what was left of me.

_“Where are you? This isn’t your time yet! You cannot go to your Maker’s side. Not now, when you had so little time at mine! I will protect you. I will fight this for you. But you need to let me find you. Please don’t hide_. _My love_, _please let me in_.”

With every ounce of strength still left in me, I reached back.

“_Here. I am here_.” The moment she embraced my fractured pieces, I remembered. She told the story of who I was.

A man. A strong man in his prime. A leader of soldiers, a protector of the innocent. I’d been a templar once, and a general now. I had been through trials of fire, crucibles of faith. And I had prevailed. A vanguard against the coming storm. I had family and friends, people who counted on me. I fought for what I believed in, and would go on fighting until I drew my last breath. Or until I found peace. Cullen. I was Cullen.

“_There you are_. _I was so worried. Don’t you dare leave me again_.”

“_Never_.”, I answered. And I meant it. With that promise, I chose life. I chose to return. Rise again to fight another day. Another chance to find what I had been looking for all these years.

Through her touch, I also remembered _her._ The woman I loved, the keeper of my heart. Selkie. But at the same time, I somehow _was _the woman, and I radiated balance out into the world like a rising sun. I was fiercely loyal, and not afraid anymore.

Somewhere behind me lay fear and doubt, floating away across the sea, who had been my companion since childhood. Whenever I fell into her waters, she lifted me out again. My eyes saw much in others, but I tried not to trespass into their privacy. I held the gaze of those I trusted, and those who trusted me, because all else would simply be rude.

I walked the line between two worlds, two opposing concepts. The physical and the spiritual. Just as I balanced my feet on a moving ship, ran the railings without wavering. For a time I cannot measure by any rational means, I knew her completely, because we were joined.

“_It will be alright now_.”, she soothed. I knew it would.

In the _There_, I heard a quiet hum, a melody softer than a sigh. The stinging pain I felt faded into the background. I comprehended now that it was necessary, and therefore I could block it out, push it beyond reach. 

Selkie’s ‘song’ seeped into the _Within_ too. And as it unfolded, she kept the void below at bay, and the devastated wasteland above from collapsing on us. Her spirit reached out into the havoc wreaked on my mind by the poison, and she reassembled what had been undone. Weaved it anew. I can think of many comparisons to describe what she did, although none truly do it justice.

I had been a chorus of dissonance. She pulled me back into tune, and gave me a piece of herself in the process. A reminder of who I was, through her eyes. I don’t know how long it took. But I know that for the first time, I fully understood the meaning of qai. The strength of will in mine. The intricate beauty in hers. Maker, don’t let me forget this.

She was almost done, when I sensed the quiver in her concentration. A small faltering, the only sign that she had reached the last reserves of her strength. Spent. I spoke at the same time as Reason did, who I know recognized as Solas.

“_Da’len_. You are finished. His spirit is stabilized. Pull back.”

“_Stop, sweetheart. You have done enough. Save your strength.”_

“_Just… this last one_.”, she said both _There_ and _Within_.

She slowly released me, a sigh leaving her lips. Her consciousness disentangled from mine, drew away, and with it went the stunning double perception I’d had during our joining. I let her go.

In the _There_, I heard a thud, and _Within_… Selkie disappeared. Panicked beyond words, I commanded my body to wake, but that was the instant I realized how much this ordeal had taken from me. Exhaustion buried me beneath an unstoppable avalanche. Sleep, pulling me under inexorably. I had no choice but to heed.

* * *

I slept for… Honestly, I have no idea how long. Time passed in that strange, disconnected way it does for the sick and injured. But I rested, oblivious. Healing, whole again.

When I began to slide back into awareness, it happened in torturously slow stages. I reconnected with my body, regaining sensation in most parts of me. Prone, lying in boneless languor on a feather mattress, more comfortable than I was used to.

The air smelled nice, but I caught an undercurrent of disease and sweat, and just a whiff of blood. It was overlaid by a mix of herbal scents and the remnants of something sweet. The blend reminded me of the healer’s sickrooms in Skyhold. I had been draped with a blanket, up to my hip, and the room felt warm but not heated. A crisp breeze blew in from an open window somewhere. It carried the faintest promise of spring.

I took inventory of hurts, bruises, and missing things. My leg pained me, throbbed with dull pangs in rhythm with my pulse, but it was bearable. I’d had to take a hit from the harlequin to disable her. The wound felt a day old at least, no… Two, perhaps three? Mastering myself, I shifted just the tiniest inch. The cut on my leg pulled tight, but didn’t hurt so much. Stitched up. Healing well, not infected.

Another pain stole my awareness, and this one was different. A burning along my whole left arm, on the outside, as though I was lying too close to a fire. I could not categorize this pain. It was too unfamiliar, odd, prickling along my skin. Bandages had been draped over it, but very lightly, gossamer-thin. A gust of air washed in as someone entered the room and closed the door behind them. It had been silent before, but now I became aware of a quiet conversation taking place around me.

“How is she?” Varric’s voice. He had been present the whole time, in my delirium. A thud and then another. A book being closed.

“She sleeps still, as she will for some time yet. Her spirit is calm. Well… More or less. She woke when I examined her, only to berate me for disturbing her with anything other than news on Cullen’s state. The ritual took a heavy toll, almost every bit of strength she had.”, Solas said quietly. He’d been there too. If I could only gather all my senses, I could fully wake…

“But she’ll recover, right?”, Varric pressed.

“Yes, she’ll recover. Fully, I think, although she’ll be sleeping a lot, for at least a fortnight.” Thank the Maker. I felt a sigh of relief escape me. 

“Or maybe the obstinate woman will jump up tomorrow and refuse to go back to bed. Wouldn’t surprise me. I still can’t believe she did all of that with a cracked rib. And said not a peep. I wanted to wring her neck when she keeled over.” Varric sounded irritated, in an oddly grudging way. Selkie had been injured? But when? The harlequin had not touched her.

“Indeed. There is a stubbornness there. And a great strength her fathers may have overlooked. She protected Cullen when he fell. He might have split his skull on the stones otherwise.”, Solas mused thoughtfully.

“Yeah, well. You could have patched that up, or not?”

“Likely so, but going through the ritual with a head injury…”, he trailed away.

“Let me guess. It would have been like jumping a lame horse across a chasm, blindfolded and with both hands bound behind your back?”, Varric asked sarcastically.

“Not how I would have put it, but yes. Just so. Except the horse would have been blindfolded, too.”, Solas elaborated.

“Andraste’s tits. Well, it worked out. How’s our other patient?” 

“Awake, I believe. Commander? Take your time. You have been through a lot. Whenever you are ready.”, the elven mage came closer, to the side of the bed.

I gathered my wits and finally managed to open my eyes. An unfamiliar room greeted me, but I recognized it as the tavern Selkie and Varric were staying in. Perhaps a bit fancier than your usual tavern room. The master suite. All furniture a little more expensive, the mattress softer, the pillows fluffier. It was clean and tidy. Varric sat in the far-right corner, on a comfortable-looking upholstered armchair. Solas stood on my left side, surveying me with the critical gaze of a healer assessing a patient.

“Welcome back, Commander.”, he said neutrally, reaching for a cup which he filled with water. Maker, my throat was parched. Bone-dry. I gulped down the offered drink until the cup was empty.

“Thank you.”, I said, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah, welcome back, Curly. In the land of the living and relatively sane. You had us scared shitless there for a moment.”, Varric threw in, crossing his arms and smirking. I shimmied my body upward, trying to sit, even though a debilitating weakness lingered in my very bones. I managed it without help, leaning back against the bedframe. My left arm tingled uncomfortably with every move.

“Needed to return the f-favour… for all your jokes.”, I answered Varric’s comment while huffing for breath, which made him grin from ear to ear.

“Yep, that’s Cullen alright. Stick in the butt and all.”

I felt a little nauseous and feeble as a new-born cub tossed into a harsh world, but otherwise… The only really maddening thing was that I wanted to scratch the prickling itch on my arm. The tingle distracted me, as though the skin was raw and exposed. Hypersensitive. I reached for it instinctively, but Solas stopped me.

“Wait. You will feel disoriented for a while, and we should fill you in on the situation. No, don’t get up yet. You’ll likely fall on your face and then what would I tell Selkie? Just let me explain.”

I leaned back, arrested by his words.

“What happened?”, I asked, examining the white bandage on my left arm. I thought I saw something dark contrasted against the lighter skin beneath the cloth.

“The harlequin’s poisoned needle made you ill. Very ill. You cheated death by a hair’s breadth. Do you remember falling unconscious outside the tavern?”, Solas queried. I nodded. It was coming back to me. The harlequin’s words. _You’re in for a wild ride. A dead man walking. You’ll die in madness._ She’d been right. I had been dying. And then…

“I remember feeling… wrong. My mind scrambled, scattered… Everything was in pieces. I thought I would die from the torment. But then… Selkie was there with me. She pulled me back, put me… right again.”, I fumbled for words to describe something I didn’t comprehend myself. I recalled torn shreds, disconnected images from my delirium, scraps of memory. Like fever-dreams, blurry and too bright, all colours magnified but still eluding to be grasped.

“Princess saved your life. And gave you a souvenir. Show him, before he starts scratching it.”, Varric nodded towards Solas, who leaned in to lift the bandages from my arm. As he did, the tattoo came into view, and the sight stunned me. An indigo pattern of swirls and waves wound from my bicep down along the upper arm, curved over the outer edge at my elbow and meandered across my forearm, almost as far as my wrist.

It was not as intricate or well-designed as Selkie’s. Drawn with less expertise than Ariu’s skilled hands, but she had made up for it with sheer dogged determination. It must have taken hours to complete. I was over-aware of the ink on my skin, stung to last forever. The sensations there were… Augmented. Highly so. I felt even the movement of the air, and the echo of something else… Something bodiless. As though a little string tugged at me, reminding me of a connection, a touch, a mingling. A mutual exchange. A binding contract.

“_I am so sorry for this, Cullen. I know it hurts. But it will save you. Stay with me. I’m begging you_.”

“Selkie performed the ritual of balance to bring your mind back from the edge of madness. It was a great risk to both of you, but… she succeeded.”, Solas said while I stared at the tattoo in speechless fascination.

“I’m sure a creepy soul-mate tattoo is a fair exchange for a life. Besides, it makes you look like a dashing pirate. What’s the word? ‘Roguishly handsome’? The kitchen maids will hit the floor swooning.”

I threw Varric a glare. As if I cared about how it looked… It was more the way it felt. Utterly foreign and familiar, at the same time.

“Selkie said you might be angry… I told you once, the ritual is extremely personal. I will not ask you any details about it. I know the basic theory.”, Solas said, his expression contemplative.

“I’m not angry.”, I said, and meant it. I was alive because of the risk Selkie took for me. Why would I be angry? Because it was magic? Such a thing might have disturbed once, perhaps even recently. I wouldn’t have wanted just any strange magic near me, that much is true. But this was different. A part of _her_, given freely. Unconditionally. I would never shun it.

“I did not expect you to be. Now, I should inform you about a few things concerning this new addition to yourself. Don’t scratch it, or it will get infected. I am very serious, leave it alone even if the urge gets strong. And it will.”, Solas continued seamlessly.

“The inked skin will always feel sensitive, to some degree. You have slept for nearly two days. The immediate soreness should fade in about three more days, but the entire healing process will take several weeks. The bandage can stay off now. Selkie said you should let the skin breathe anyway. Then, starting with the day after tomorrow, you apply some of this salve.”

He showed me a tiny pot of salve, which I opened curiously. It smelled of mint and other herbs I could not discern.

“Got to keep that pretty skin moisturized, Curly.”, Varric threw in from the side-lines.

“Selkie said to apply it once or twice a day, depending on how you feel. It prevents skin tears caused by dryness. You can utilize it for as long as you wish, but after a few weeks, you should be getting used to the unfamiliar feeling. No scratching, fidgeting, scrubbing. No excessive washing, and when you do wash it, only with your fingers. No towelling off, let it air-dry.” 

“Did she tell you to memorize all of this?”, I mused, ignoring the urge to scratch, fidget or scrub with some difficulty.

“Diligently. There was something distinctly… _you_ in that speech she gave me before she went to sleep. It reminded me of the way you instruct recruits.”, Solas answered sourly. I couldn’t supress my amusement.

“Recruits need harsh instruction. They usually know nothing.”, I remarked as I poured myself another cup of water. Solas snorted.

“What’s there to know? Stick the pointy thing in the fleshy part.”, Varric griped.

“You have no idea how many make the mistake of getting the pointy thing stuck in their own fleshy parts, not their opponents.”

“That just means you are a bad teacher.”, the dwarf cocked a sceptical brow. I sighed, deep and resigned. He was already making me want to go back to sleep.

“I missed that exasperated sigh. For a time, I thought I would never hear it again. I am damn glad Selkie knows some weird shit.”, Varric surprised me by muttering under his breath.

“You had a guardian spirit there, Commander.”, Solas added softly. “A fierce champion.”

“I know.”, I said, my voice severe. “She is resting now?” The elf nodded.

“She cracked a rib, but I patched her up after the ritual. She’s regaining her strength, but it will take time. And there is something else you should know…”, he trailed away, glancing at Varric.

“The harlequin carried a vial with a piece of her voice. She speaks. Temporarily.”

This stunned me almost as much as the tattoo had. I hadn’t imagined those hazy conversations I’d witnessed. I hadn’t imagined hearing her voice. It had been real. I groped after the memories, trying to bring them forth and remember the exact sound, cadence, character, but all I found was the pleasant warmth it had granted me. Although it cost energy I didn’t yet have, I straightened and made an attempt to rise from the bed.

“What are you doing?!”, Solas exclaimed. “You should be resting. You just had your _mind_ turned inside out. And you are injured, a cut on your leg.”

“I just… want to s-see her.”, I gasped out, the exertion and subsequent feebleness taking my breath away.

I loathed to be helpless. Weak and fragile. Useless flesh. My body protested against the stress I put on it, too quickly, too early. Every muscle felt sore, battered, as though I’d just returned from the longest battle of my life.

While my mind railed that this body should be much stronger, take much more strain. Why didn’t it follow my commands?! I was a man at the height of his physical prowess, suddenly reduced to shaking and trembling like an old geezer. My pride chafed. Dignity is a much more brittle thing than we might think.

“Curly, you’ll drop like a dead bird the minute you get out of that bed. And then Selkie will tan our hides, including yours. Let her sleep. Besides, Cassandra is scheduled to arrive today. We sent word to Skyhold, and the cavalry answered. She’ll want to hear the whole story.”, Varric’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

“And I’ll have a proper report ready.”, I huffed, still struggling. “But only after… I have seen Selkie. I just want to make sure she’s alright. I won’t wake her.” An unescapable dizziness washed over me, making stars appear in my vision. And odd things come out of my mouth.

“Perhaps I’ll just sleep with her instead.”

Wait. What did I just say? Varric’s brows retreated so far up his forehead they disappeared into his hairline.

“I mean… _With_ her. In the… At her side. _Beside_ her. Maker’s Breath, get your mind out of the gutter, Varric!”

A domineering edge had returned to my voice, but Varric threw back his head and laughed. A deep, sonorous, hearty guffaw. Even Solas looked noticeably amused.

It took some time until the laughter at my expense died down. Eventually, Varric hiccupped once and cleared his throat.

“I’m done. Wait, wait. No, I am done. Really. You made my day. My whole month. First Cassandra reading my _romance series _of all things, now this. What are the odds?”

“It is an unimaginative mind that only believes the probable.”, Solas commented.

“Ouch. That was below the belt, Chuckles. Not all of us can practically be married to the Fade.”

“Ah, and what a demanding mistress she is.” 

These two might be caught in a perpetual sparring of wits, but both sounded as though they were enjoying themselves. I could only shake my head at them, and inwardly thank the Maker that they had been at the right place in a time of need. Without their support… things might have turned out differently. In the end, I did let them browbeat me into eating a simple meal of stew and crisp white bread, while I gathered strength in my buffeted body.

I also cleaned myself up as much as was possible right now, hating he smell of sickness on my skin. There was no opportunity for a bath – probably for the best, because I didn’t think I would be able to manage such a feat on my own, and I would definitely not ask for help with something so private. But the maids brought a large bowl with warmed water, and I washed off the worst of the delirium’s residue, changing into a fresh shirt. The fabric felt impossibly intense on my tattooed skin.

Solas suggested cutting the sleeve at the elbow and folding it up to my shoulder, which I promptly agreed to. I wondered distractedly if I’d need to ask the blacksmith to make alternations on my armour now.

Afterwards, I felt so drained that I had to sit on the bed for several minutes while Solas and Varric talked the happenings over. The need to see Selkie overpowered me soon, though. I bristled at allowing Varric to brace me for the dozen feet or so to her room door, but I gave in after only a few protests. He helped me through the deserted hallway – the tavern had been vacated entirely after the attack. Good. Someone had taken care to do everything by the book, keeping our protocols for such disastrous situations.

After thanking Varric, I entered Selkie’s room quietly, closing the door behind me. My steps were slow and ponderous due to my physical exhaustion and weakened state. Selkie’s lodgings here were not as spacious as the master suite, but it was a pleasant room. Warm and cosy. Unassumingly furnished, the woodwork made from cherrywood, the adornments limited to a few subtle carvings. The desk was littered with an assortment of personal items: Books, clothes and other paraphernalia she had likely picked up here in Jader, while strolling the markets.

My veterans had sent me daily reports on her well-being. I’d known that my men were dead the moment the harlequin had stepped from the alley. Two of my best soldiers, gone… Their families would need to be notified, assured, consoled. Unable to put duty aside, I was already filing through the things that needed to be done in the days to come. How tiresome a person I must be. How demanding my men must find me. I couldn’t even seem to allow myself a time of rest after being kissed by death.

A window at the southern wall looked out over a surfeit of merchant stalls, blending seamlessly into the docks and then the sea. It stood slightly ajar, with Tweaker nesting inside a rolled-up piece of cloth on the inner windowsill. He seemed to be sleeping, head tucked beneath a smoothed wing. Of course, he would flock to Selkie at the first chance he got. Unfaithful creature.

The afternoon sun threw a few errant rays onto the double bed, the room’s most prominent feature. Selkie lay on the left side, curled up like a kitten, facing the bed’s centre. She was draped with several sheets which had been drawn up to her shoulders. Her head almost disappeared within the downy white cloud of her pillow.

I approached cautiously, favouring my left leg since the right sent shards of pain through the rest of me when I put weight on it. The whole room smelled of her. Spices, fresh sea-breeze and… something floral she scented her bath with. I lowered myself to the bed slowly, taking care not to wake her.

But she slept like the dead. If not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I would have been worried how deep her slumber was. Her tip-tilted eyes were closed, the long, dense lashes kissing her cheeks. Black like her midnight hair, fanning and spilling out around her. Her complexion was paler than usual, emphasizing the dainty scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. It was small and quirky, that nose. Almost girlish. My heart seemed to grow heavy as I thought about how much she had risked in order to save me. How much energy it had taken from her. She looked so… vulnerable, curled up around herself like this.

In the alley, when the assassin had lunged at me, I had never feared for my life. But I had known a disembowelling fear that dwelled in a place beyond description. It cannot be understood, except by those who have loved another deeply.

I’d only known her for a few months, but I already couldn’t conceive of a world that didn’t have her in it. I marvelled how quickly these things can develop. Someone charging into your life, throwing open all doors and just whooshing in like a strong gust of wind. It happens before you even know it, and suddenly… keeping her safe is the most important thing. 

The harlequin’s haunting little song intruded upon my mind: _Blood of Elya, strong is She… Break her will, unleash the sea_. What did it mean? Selkie’s strength had never been of a physical sort. If her mind could have withstood what I had experienced through the poison… Maker, it would take a force of nature to survive that. So many questions left unanswered…

I lay down at her side, carefully taking her slender form into my arms. Folding my body around hers like a shelter, a protective barrier against intrusions from the outside world. Guarding her dreams jealously, ready to chase off anything that would disturb her sleep. I let my left arm rest on top, bared to the cool stream of air coming in from the window.

She never woke, but I felt her huddle closer to me, as though seeking warmth, her face nuzzling into the fabric of my shirt. Her hair tickled me a little, but I enjoyed the way it felt against my skin. Silky and fragrant. I closed my eyes. My breathing attuned to hers. Now that I knew she was safe, the strain left my muscles. Nothing would harm her now. I’d make sure.

Selkie sighed once, a long, content exhale. As I drifted off, surrounded by her wonderful scent, she spoke in her sleep. I heard her voice for the first time, not distorted by delirium. It was only one word. My name.

“Cullen.”

It felt like a blessing. Deliverance. I fell asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked how Selkie saved the day, and how close my two darlings are becoming <3 In my stories, you can count on it that no matter how bad things get, love will save the day. I won't let you down! Aw man, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore... I finished university and I'm just riding the high :D :D


	24. XXIV. Whole Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I got sooo many kudos after the last chapter! Thank you so much!! I'm amazed that you all enjoy my story, it really makes me happy when you tell me how much you like Selkie <3 I put so much work into her character   
This chapter contains one of my favourite scenes in the entire story. It's the way Selkie reacts when she sees Cullen again after the ritual. I do love that scene. I hope you do too!   
Enjoy reading :))

### XXIV. Whole Again

_The Weaver_

* * *

I had done everything I could. Now I rested. Within a bottomless, dreamless slumber. I let the warm waters wash over me as I lay on shores of white, white sand. For a good while, I knew nothing. And that time was necessary, because I had given much. But I would have done it again, without hesitation, without doubt. Solas would later tell me that I slept for three days straight.

After I had finished the ritual of balance on Cullen, I’d fallen unconscious from exhaustion and the pain in my side. I’d been roused a bit later when Solas patched me up and aided the bone to heal with a spell. He’d allowed me to sleep a bit during this. I was told that a maid helped me wash and see to my bodily needs, then changed my clothes as I stood, swaying with a listless apathy. I couldn’t remember that. I must have been so tired, my mind too depleted to register what was done to my body. Already in full retreat, like some primordial creature coiling up for an eon of hibernation.

My qai lay dormant, tiny and silent inside me after expending every last ounce of strength. It slept too. I had a hazy recollection of being roused several times, and not even caring about the offhand way Solas handled me during his examinations.

But I did remember one thing from my three days of oblivious stupor. Being held by strong arms, with such exceeding care. Safe and sound. Even in depths of sleep, I knew on an instinctual level that he was with me. Protecting us. Standing guard, watching over us. I could sleep for as long as I wished. I cannot begin to explain how wonderful it felt, that safety.

Three days after I’d performed the ritual, I came awake fully for the first time, feeling well enough restored. My mind was ready to return from the haze, and although I still sensed exhaustion within me, I did not let it overcome me again.

A late morning sun greeted me through the window when I opened my eyes, unfolding my limbs and stretching the muscles that had been inert for too long. I was alone, but as I rocked from side to side to disperse the numbness from my arms and legs, I caught a faint scent lingering in the sheets. I knew that scent well.

A smile stretched my lips. He had really slept beside me. The first time in my life of sharing a bed with a man, and I had been so completely out of it, I had missed the entire experience! Frowning at myself, I sat up and rolled my shoulders. Things creaked and crunched in every joint, and I groaned out my discomfort. Well, the only remedy against a stiff body was movement. My mouth was dry and stale as a dusty old attic, and the first thing I did was drinking water straight from the pitcher on the nightstand, like a savage.

Where had Cullen gone, anyway? _Incorrigible man_, I grumbled inwardly while I washed behind the folding screen. He should be resting. Between the cut on his leg and the energy taken by the ritual, he’d also casually strolled down the road of insanity and knocked on death’s door. I’d barely snatched him back.

Contrary to him, who would remember the ritual mostly in vague, disconnected images due to his mental state, I had been fully conscious during the process. I recalled it well, although the vivid memories would fade in time. The thing with such a powerful spiritual experience is this: You cannot peruse another person’s mind as you would peruse a book, page by page. You see all of it, all at once. An immense quantity of information, suddenly shared.

For a short time, it is indescribably intense. Exhilarating. It cannot stay that way, though. Sharing minds is a risky thing. The urge to stay joined for longer than necessary is strong, but it holds the danger of losing yourself. It’s difficult to explain. People usually _want_ to feel a connection. They want to feel reassured that they are not alone. It’s human nature. That is why one of the most critical parts of the ritual of balance is the last one – the stepping back, the letting go again. We had managed that too.

Still, I remembered how I had held him tethered to this living world. I’d known that I loved Cullen for some time now, although I had fled from the knowledge in the beginning. The moment I had truly understood… It may have been during our fight, when my father’s past had been revealed. My heart had tried to cudgel me with the realization. I’d felt it rise within every last inch of me. And then I had fled from it. What a stupid thing to do. 

Because with the ritual, I knew what it felt like to _be_ the man I loved. I’d looked upon his haunting past and his hopes for the future. The lifelong search for purpose, a faith put to the trial again and again. Virtues and vices, as we all have them. Imperfectly perfect. His regrets and joys, always circling each other. He’d been broken down and had built himself back up. Risen from the ashes and gone into battle once more. And I had felt how he longed for peace. For a tiny shred of softness in a life so harshly lived.

The thought saddened me. We all need a little softness sometimes. Otherwise, we would bleed ourselves dry or become pitiless creatures, no longer quite human. Even the most driven man needs a home where he can shed the burdens of the day and just be himself. A place to rest his weary head once in a while. Perhaps in time, we will get there.

I wondered if all of this was just as unfamiliar and new for him as it was for me. I walked uncharted lands now. Navigated strange waters. At least he was not angry with me for performing ‘magic’ on him. He wouldn’t have slept beside me otherwise, I was sure about that.

Yawning hugely, I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes as I pinched my cheeks to enliven them a little. The small looking glass showed me a haunting image. Circles under the eyes, complexion pallid, my features sagging a bit as though heaviness pulled them towards the ground. Ugh, I looked terrible. Thinned out. My stomach growled, demanding sustenance. I smoothed my unruly locks, which stuck out around my head in an utter mess. Well, that task was doomed to failure. In the end, I just tied them into a sloppy braid.

Stepping from the room, I glanced around surreptitiously and tested my qai. It bristled against being called upon again so soon, but allowed me a faint awareness. The tavern was nearly empty, still closed off for patrons by the Inquisition, soldiers posted at every exit. I sensed Varric and Solas nearby, and caught Cullen’s aura on the ground floor. He wasn’t alone.

I took the steps two at a time, emerging into the tavern’s main room a bit more exuberantly than I’d planned. Cullen sat at a table laden with breakfast plates and sheaves of parchment in equal measure. He was fully dressed but unarmoured, the left sleeve of his shirt rolled up to the shoulder, leaving his arm bare.

He must have found a way to bathe, because his hair was combed back over his head in sleek strands, still damp. Cassandra paced up and down between the empty chairs, her sharp features grim. She had come ready for battle, although she’d discarded shield and sword, which now both lay on an empty table. But my attention snapped back to Cullen, who was in the process of penning a letter. Or a report, or a missive. Business as usual. As if he hadn’t been dying just three days ago!

“You shouldn’t even be up and about yet!”, I exclaimed, unable to help myself. Both of them whipped around to stare at me as if I had suddenly sprouted a second head. The identical looks of astonishment on their faces were nothing short of comical.

“She really does speak.”, Cassandra said, incredulous. I ignored her for now, scowling at Cullen instead. Torn between the impulse to fling my arms around him or thrash him because he was taxing himself again so soon.

“I am just writing a letter.”, he defended himself with a deliberately innocent undertone. Something danced in his amber eyes, a bright and marvellous thing that somehow speared me right through the heart.

This was familiar. Achingly, wonderfully familiar. Me, rebuking him for working too much. He, downplaying it. This was what we did. How it should be. And I’d almost lost that.

“You nearly died on me.”, I accused. My voice had lost all mettle, wobbly and small now. Cullen turned on his chair to face me fully then. I didn’t know what he saw on my face, but his expression melted into the same warm, tender one he had worn before he had kissed me in the square. Affection. It was affection. His words were grave.

“Forgive me for scaring you so.”

Fool! He was always apologizing for the stupidest things. I wanted to tell him so, but I’d been abandoned by the ability of speech due to the giant, gravelly knot in my throat. Something snapped inside me then. Some last string of hesitation, maybe. I closed the distance between us with flying steps and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him to me.

Until that moment, a tiny part of me had still held a fear that all of this couldn’t be real, that I had failed. A mirage, a dream my mind had fled to. Taken by surprise, Cullen went still for an instant, before he returned my spirited embrace.

I clung to him, buried my face to his chest, hands clenching the collar of his shirt. He held me. Just held me close, murmuring nonsense words of comfort. I felt his warm breath at the crown of my head, his lips as they rained gentle kisses onto my hair.

“Hush, sweetheart. It’s alright now.”, he crooned softly, over and over again, with infinite patience for my childish outbreak. Until my erratic heart calmed. Until I regained my equilibrium.

“You saved me. You did. I know how much it cost you. Brave, fierce sorceress… You must have been so frightened. It’s alright.”

I had. I had been so frightened. Scared out of my mind. After a small eternity of soothing, when I felt I had enough control again, I pulled away from him slowly and inhaled a shuddering breath. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Cassandra had respectfully retreated from us, her back turned as she spoke quietly to the innkeeper behind the counter.

“I… I think I’m d-done losing my shit. For a lifetime.”, I managed between hiccups, squaring my shoulders.

Cullen retook his seat, but not without surveying me pervasively from head to toe. He lifted a hand to the side of my ribcage. Although it still hurt, the pain wasn’t as bad as it had been on the night of the attack.

I noticed that I subconsciously kept my breaths a bit shallower, to avoid putting stress on the cracked rib. Cullen noticed it too, observant man that he was. Such injuries were the order of the day among soldiers. While his touch was lighter than a moth’s wing, his expression hardened.

“You will have to go without the leather corset for a time. And avoid any physical exertion.”, he said quietly, sliding me one of his well-known frowns. But his eyes were gentle. “Are you in pain?”

I shook my head, then gave a one-sided shrug. “It feels sore… But I had worse falls as a child. I haven’t always kept my balance so well, you know.”

He didn’t seem as mollified as I had hoped, but he dropped the issue for now. I looked closely at his left arm for the first time, which he had propped on the table. Cullen held it out between us for me to examine. The indigo pattern was still red at the edges. It would take a few more days for the irritation to fade and the skin to accept the ink entirely, but I saw no signs of infection. It was healing nicely.

“You did a good job.”, Cullen said, flexing his fingers. The ripple of muscles shivering across his arm distracted me. The wish to touch him was strong. I held myself in check. I remembered the first few days after I’d gotten my tattoos. I had felt everything there, even the faintest wisp of air. Touching it would be like pinching an exposed nerve right now.

“I am sure Ariu would disagree…”, I murmured as I did a thorough survey of my work. “A sloppy line here… and there… But it did what it was supposed to do. How does it feel?”

Cullen turned his arm this way and that, with the same look on his face he wore when critically investigating the soundness of a blade. “Strange. Sensitive… But also like it belongs there. I can’t really explain… Varric tells me I look like a dashing pirate now.”

I threw him a quick smile. “Dashing, aye. Pirate? No. You are much too principled to ever be a pirate.”

He gave me a half-pensive, half-amused look. “So was Cornwall, and he still became one.”

“Aye, but only in the sense that any man who commands an unflagged ship is a pirate. There is a certain irony in that. Piracy as a way to keep your family safe.”, I mused in a self-deprecating tone. Cullen’s lips quirked into a funny, crooked smile.

“You say ‘Aye’ instead of ‘Yes’. I never knew.” He sounded rather amazed. I couldn’t fathom why this tiny detail fascinated him so much.

“Some things do stick from the seaside life.”, I replied wryly. “You haven’t been scratching this, I hope?”

“No, my lady. I have left it alone, as you commanded.” Now I was beginning to think he was making fun of me. His face had assumed an expression of quizzical mirth, his head slightly tilted as he gazed at me intently.

“I’m sorry… Am I nagging? I just want to…” Even after months, he still managed to fluster me. However did he do it?

“You can nag me all day, if you only use that voice.”, Cullen said after a moment. The husky words sent heat blazing down my spine and up again, flushing my face. I had to clear my throat and swallow before I regained enough wits to speak.

“What – what voice?”

He smiled almost lazily. “Just… yours.”

I remembered now how he did that flustering thing. By blindsiding me with such sweet talk when I least expected it. Before I could form a reply though, Cassandra returned into our midst. Her expression was on some odd middle-ground between awkward and stern.

“Selkie.”, she greeted me neutrally.

“Cassandra, it’s good to see you.”, I said encouragingly, which made her face soften a bit. Hearing me speak so casually must have been unnerving. My voice still sounded foreign even to my own ears after being mute for so long.

As both of us pulled up chairs to sit around Cullen’s table, the smell of food hit me hard, stealing all of my attention. I was famished. There were plates of toasted bread, scrambled eggs with mushrooms, crispy bacon and smoked fish. I swallowed, my mouth watering at the sight.

“You must be hungry. Please eat. Explanations can wait until you had your breakfast.”, Cassandra said.

She didn’t have to ask me twice. I piled some of everything onto a plate and tore into the food like a starved animal. Cullen seemed to be suppressing a grin as he watched me eat. I glared at him, and he pretended to inspect the letter he’d been writing. But he kept surreptitiously pushing dishes closer to me, or sneaking additional food onto my plate.

Cassandra sat leaned back in her chair, looking over a report as she waited for me to finish. Eventually, I put aside the empty plate and sighed in contentment. After performing tasks that require a lot of energy, all mages are ravenous eaters. Weavers are no different. I remember devouring alarming quantities of fish whenever I’d had to weave for prolonged times on the Tidedancer.

“That… was necessary.”, I declared, dipping one last piece of buttered toast into a little pot of honey. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t apologize. Are you sure you are done? You look thinner than ever…”, Cullen murmured, his expression concerned.

“It’s fine for now. Don’t worry.”, I insisted gently, turning to Cassandra now. “I’m guessing you have some questions for me.” 

“I do indeed. First, let me say I am glad you have a voice now, even if only temporarily. It suits you, somehow…”, the seeker began. “I came as fast as I could when Leliana gave us the news of what happened. I’m glad you made it through the hardships without much visible damage. The others have all given me a thorough report, and yours is the last one missing. But I wanted to let you rest.”

She paused for a moment, her piercing eyes wandering to Cullen and then back to me. “It seems you handled this situation well, all things considered. Solas tried to explain to me what you did against the harlequin’s poison, but he soon gave up, saying that I ‘needed to broaden my horizons to truly comprehend it’. Walk me through it, please.”

“I’ll try my best.”, I affirmed, choosing my words carefully. “But first, I am going to have to reach far back. My powers manifested when I was seven years old.”

“Only seven? That is a very young age for magic to show.”, Cullen interjected, baffled.

“It is. I wasn’t allowed to weave until I got my tattoos, though. I was mentored by Ariu for five years before I ever touched my qai to water fully. Reflexion, contemplation, studies about the Fade and the forms of water. When he deemed me ready, Ariu performed the ritual of balance and tattooed my skin. There is a message in his writing, a mantra, a profound wisdom. I could describe the exact procedure to you, but I think it is easiest if you imagine it as a very deep, guided meditation. Everything beyond that is…”, I trailed off.

“Personal.”, Cullen complemented seriously. His tone of voice very clearly forbade further prying into the issue. Cassandra seemed to ponder this information for a while.

“So you somehow… counteracted the poison with this ritual, and gave him that in the process.”, she nodded her head at the tattoo.

“That poison was designed for me.”, I said, my voice brimming with bitterness. “I think it would have killed anyone but a Waterweaver.” My gaze flickered to Cullen’s. “The ritual put his mind right again. The tattoo is to impart the message, so it would never be forgotten.”

“What message?” When both me and Cullen avoided looking at her and kept our silence, she seemed to understand the hint. “I see. This is the ‘personal’ part.”

The seeker gave a sigh and shook her head helplessly. “I’m not really wiser now than I had been five minutes ago. But I see I won’t win any laurels by probing you further. Tell me about the consequences of this ritual.”

“For me? The need to sleep a lot in the coming days, and not much more. For Cullen? Besides the instructions I have given for the tattoo itself… He’ll favour sleeping on his right side. He’ll probably change his clothing preferences, at least as long as he gets used to the sensitivity. He won’t enjoy being touched there, at least not by… unfamiliar people. Right now, he’ll have to take it slow – and I mean _slow_. No excessive exercise, such as sparring with the Bull. No working overtime, no late nights. Lots of rest. And absolutely no mental… agitation.”, I went through the list in a business-like tone. Cullen looked ready for vehement protests, but Cassandra and I paid him no heed right now.

“And otherwise he will be fine?”, she asked.

“Otherwise he will be perfectly fine. All parts intact.”, I confirmed with a nod.

“Can he travel back to Skyhold?” I mulled this over while the man beside me spluttered irately.

“I guess if we keep it at a trot, it should be alright. But once we’re there, you should probably relieve him of most of his duties for a time. What he went through is comparable to a major surgery. It needs to heal.” I felt like I was conducting a negotiation, or some sort of intense haggling match. And the answering flash of challenge in Cassandra’s eyes told me she felt the same.

“How long?”, she questioned curtly.

“A fortnight.”, I shot back.

“A fort… what?! Maker’s Breath, I haven’t had an idle day in my life since boyhood, and now I’m supposed to take a _fortnight_?”, Cullen exclaimed in shock.

“You are not a part of this discussion, Commander.”, Cassandra remarked, her eyes firmly fixating on me. They glinted almost… mischievously.

“Not part of it? It is _about_ _me_!”, he piped up, sounding scandalized. We both ignored him.

“I know what you are going for, Selkie. Give me a bit of leeway here.”, she said in an uncharacteristically cajoling voice. I gave a sigh of resignation.

“Fine. Ten days, and you can have him write correspondences and such. A few hours a day.”

“Done.”

This was the point when Cullen would be disregarded no longer. “Wait a minute! You’ll just simply decide my fate at the drop of a hat? I am sitting right here. Besides, you don’t even have the authority to –“

But now Cassandra was pulling a piece of official-looking parchment from her belt pouch. Unfolding it, she began reading without preamble, cutting Cullen short.

“By my authority, I appoint Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, former Right Hand of the Divine, to overseeing the work of my advisors in my absence. I grant her permission for any measures of discipline she deems necessary, should they overstep their bounds and thereby endanger their well-being. Signed, Inquisitor Alexander Trevelyan.”

She flipped the paper so we could both see the Inquisitor’s personal seal gracing the bottom, stamped neatly in wax. I read the post-scriptum beneath:

“’Sorry, Cullen. We all need a vacation from time to time. Read a book, will you?’”

Cullen looked as though he had just been stabbed in the back by a beloved brother. I felt a little sorry for him, but he would have to comply in this.

“There is no way you acquired that within the last three days. It’s a forgery.”, he said, his voice distinctly cagy, panicked.

“Now you are just being ridiculous, Cullen.”, Cassandra remarked while she folded up the order and tucked it away meticulously. “This was given to me by the Inquisitor before he left for the Lion. Quite the foresight on him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, how is Alec doing?”, I queried, while a very indignant Cullen muttered vague curses under his breath.

“He established a foothold and has helped the townsfolk by pushing back the red templars.”

“And Cole, Dorian and the Bull?”, I asked further, feeling Cullen stare at me.

“After the Sahrnia quarry is retaken, Cole and Dorian will return to Skyhold. Alec requested this so none of his companions would be overtaxed. Lady Vivienne and I will depart for the Emprise once the other two arrive. The Bull refused to be switched out, of course.”, Cassandra explained.

“Of course.” I smirked.

At length I turned to Cullen, who was giving me a beseeching look that could almost be called pleading. “Ten days… It’s so long.”

My expression softened at once, and my voice was gentle as I told him: “It really isn’t that long, if you think about it.” In an impulse, I angled my body to face away from Cassandra, so she wouldn’t see what I signed for Cullen with my hands.

“I will keep you well occupied. You won’t be bored. Promise.” His gaze fastened to my lips, and something decidedly… possessive flashed in his eyes. A need too long denied. The bristling stiffness left his shoulders, but was replaced by a different kind of tension, one I felt as well.

Joining our minds had been a spiritual revelation, indeed. But the way he taxed me now, with that hungry, lambent glint in his eyes, as though he might just pounce on me. That was animal magnetism. The opposite side of the spectrum. Physical, instinctual.

Tingling awareness raised the hairs on my nape. My stomach flipped, and someplace lower something clenched with yearning. I _enjoyed _this pursuit. The thrill of the chase. We both knew it was only a matter of time until he would catch me. Maker, I _needed_ him to catch me. To surrender to his fire. I’d have to be mad not to.

“As you wish.”, Cullen said after what felt like the most sizzling silence in the history of silences. We cleared our throats at the same time, returning our attention to Cassandra, who stayed silent for so long it was eerie. Also, I had never seen her look so… quizzical.

“What is it?”, I asked at length.

“Nothing… I am just waiting for something horrible to happen. The rain of fire. The end of days.”, she mused.

“Sarcasm, Cassandra? Varric seems to be rubbing off on you.”, Cullen said dubiously.

“I sure hope so!” At that moment, Varric descended the stairs, with Solas closely behind him. They joined us at the table, and we talked the whole disaster of the harlequin attack through. They had found several sets of the same needles the harlequin had used, and a tiny container filled with the poison that had almost claimed Cullen’s life. Cassandra wanted to return to Skyhold as soon as possible to have it examined by Arcanist Dagna and our alchemists. I agreed, but persuaded her to wait until tomorrow before we departed again. Cullen and I were still rather feeble.

“We know how she found you. Through the piece of your voice. But there is still the more pressing question of why?”, Cassandra wondered at some point. 

“I would damn well like to know that too. The Venatori who are hunting you work on Samson’s orders. But why would Samson pursue this? Any why send assassins with a poison designed to break down your mind?”, Cullen spun the thought further.

“In our second examination of the harlequin, we found something else. Here. Maybe this holds some answers.”, Solas interjected quietly. He pulled forth a small scroll-cylinder and set it onto the table.

“We haven’t opened it yet.”, Varric added as I lifted the container and unscrewed it.

There were three pieces of parchment inside. I unrolled each of them. The first one was a disturbingly life-like sketch of me. On the second, words were written in a script I had never seen before. And the third carried a drawing of an elaborate circular symbol.

A perfectly symmetrical pattern which, at first sight, appeared as an abstract combination of entwined shapes. But if one looked closer, the symbol evoked thoughts of the ocean, of fish leaping within the waters, of dolphins circling in a playful chase. Everyone around me leaned in to inspect the scroll.

“It’s beautiful.”, Cassandra murmured.

“It is…”, Cullen said.

“It seems senseless when you just glance at it. But there, there’s a fish. Even a mermaid, I think. You have to really concentrate.” Varric pointed at certain parts of the design.

Cassandra turned to me. “Does this mean anything to you, Selkie?”

I looked at the scroll for a long time. “Aye, it means a lot to me.”

Instead of answering their questioning looks, I turned my back to them. No more secrets, I had sworn to myself. Cautiously, I loosened the collar of my shirt. The others seemed shocked by the gesture. I let the fabric slip over my shoulder, just far enough so a small part of my upper back would be revealed to them. Far enough so they could see the beginnings of the symbol at the top of my spine. The very same pattern.

“That symbol is the centrepiece of my tattoos.”, I explained, although they surely had understood that, judging by the looks on their faces. Slipping the shirt back over my shoulder, I rearranged my clothes and faced my friends again.

“These Venatori know so much about me. About secrets that have been kept safe by the weavers. I don’t know the reason for their focused hunt for me, but these things… The poison, this pattern, and something the harlequin said before she died… I think this part of a much greater plan.”

I pulled an empty chair close and sat down on it, heaving a sigh. Nobody spoke. They waited for me to continue.

“I’m heartily sick of secrets.”, I stated, my voice flat. “So, I’ll simply tell you everything I know.”


	25. XXV. Unexpected Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many kudos again <3 <3 <3 Take all my love in return!  
So the second part fo this chapter is NSFW (below the break, you'll know :x), and I'm always a bit shy with those >.< I revise the scenes a hundred times and still I'm rarely satisfied with the results... I hope you still like it and have fun reading!

### XXV. Unexpected Revelations

_The Weaver_

* * *

_Our beginnings go back to a time when the world was a different place. Magic was free and unrestrained, a part of life. It was in the very air. Into this old world, Elya and Elwin were born. Twins, as closely tied together as two souls can be. And yet, in life they were two sides of the same coin. The two sides of our magic. _

_Elya could raise the seas, divert rivers to where she wanted them to go, let lakes rain their waters upon dry fields to replenish them. Elwin was a great scholar. He studied the patterns of magic within all living things, meditated for weeks to understand the delicate net that weaved everything together. Communed with spirits and learned the wisdoms they had to share. _

_Whenever Elya and Elwin came together, they exchanged their knowledge, and by joining their wisdom, they created wonders the likes of which the world will not see again. But then came the great calamity. The time of change. _

_Something terrible happened to the world. Elwin felt it most strongly, because he had a deep connection to the spiritual side of all things. His spirit friends would no longer speak to him. _

_Many became dark and hungry things, strange creatures driven mad by a world they no longer understood. There was one among them, more cunning than the others. Fuelled by a sinister purpose, this creature preyed on Elwin’s sympathy for the spirits, and persuaded him to join with it. Sensing that something was wrong with her twin, Elya rushed to his defence, but she was too late. _

_When she arrived, Elya found that the evil creature had taken control of Elwin, turning him against her. The siblings had to wage a terrible battle. Innocents died and cities were devastated in their wake. When Elya finally struck down her brother, his mind returned to him in the last moments of his life. _

_And knowing he would die, Elwin expended his remaining strength to ward Elya forever against the creatures from beyond who would covet her power. Markings appeared on her arms and back, written by her twin’s magic, holding a very part of his soul. _

_Grief-stricken by her brother’s sacrifice, Elya unleashed her wrath upon the creature who had caused so much death. She sealed the aberration away in a place only she knew how to reach, so nobody would ever free the demon again. For that was its true nature. _

_And from that time on, all who came after Elya went through the ritual of marking their bodies to balance them against intrusions from the world of spirits. But the markings also serve as a reminder of how we pass on the knowledge of those who have come and gone before us. By the writing on our skin, they are remembered. _

“This is our oldest legend, passed down among the weavers through the generations. My father told it to me, almost word by word, as I tell you now. It describes the origin of our ritual of balance. The tattoos might vary in detail, but this symbol is always the centrepiece.” I dipped a quill in ink and pulled the drawing to me. With great care, I outlined the figure in one half of the motif: a woman, with water flowing from her outstretched hand.

“Elya, our strength.”

Then I traced the other figure, a man in a graceful robe, his eyes closed.

“Elwin, our spirit.”

Together, they made up the two halves of the whole symbol.

“Of course, this is a legend. Nobody really knows how much of it is true. Some things can be traced back, though. First, our magic seems to be strongly hereditary. It stays within bloodlines, even though generations may be skipped sometimes. And second, most weavers are women. My father Ariu was a very rare exception.”

I leaned back, taking in the faces of my companions as they digested the things I’d told them. It was Cullen who spoke first, his voice hesitant.

“If your magic is hereditary, then shouldn’t your mother…”, he trailed away, knowing that this was a topic I avoided fastidiously.

“I have no memory of a mother.”, I said stiffly. “Whoever she was, she was not a weaver. As I said, generations are skipped sometimes. It makes us even harder to track. The last known weaver before Ariu was an elven woman named Syllia. She was my father’s mentor, but she died before I was born. With… with Ariu dead…” I faltered for an instant before I continued. “I am the last one.”

“Are we sure he’s dead, though?”, Varric interjected quietly. “You weavers are very closed-mouthed about your secrets. How did the Vints learn about this symbol, if not from a weaver? And we still have no idea what _that_ is.” He pointed at the piece of parchment with the strange writing on it.

“I don’t… I would sense it if he was alive. I would know.” Shivering, I rubbed a hand over my upper arm, causing the familiar tingling on my tattoos.

“I recognize a few bits of that script.”, Solas said, inspecting the sheaf. “Ancient Tevinter. I’m sorry to say that I can’t read it, though.”

“Hardly anyone can.”, Cassandra mused. “Morrigan might know a bit. Or Dorian. We can show it to him once he returns, but it will still be a while until then.”

“You told us the legend of Elya and Elwin, Selkie. We still don’t know how the Venatori learned of these things, though. Especially that odd tune the harlequin sang before she died troubles me.”, Cullen steered the topic back on track. I sighed.

“I remember. _Blood of Elya, strong is She. Break her will, unleash the sea_. Blood of Elya – that means me. As for the rest… I don’t know. I have never heard those words before. There are very few written records among the weavers. We usually tell stories or impart wisdom through the ritual of balance. But it’s possible that there are some written records buried in some ancient archives. Perhaps the Venatori dug those up.”

I paused for an instant, looking into the distance.

“There are many cautionary tales about people who have tried to hunt us down. The reasons were many. Pirate lords who thought a weaver would make their ships invincible. Mages who thought they could siphon our powers. Some deluded themselves that they could force us to weave blood. Others thought we knew about great cities beneath the sea, and treasure beyond imagination. Such mad ambitions claimed the lives of many weavers. So we hid. I wonder if it did us any good. They found me no matter what.”

I sighed, and it was quiet for a little while.

“We should try and have this translated, in any case. Maybe it will shed light on some unanswered questions. And we will have Dagna analyse the poison the harlequin used.”, Cassandra said reasonably.

“Can you?”, Cullen spoke suddenly, his voice soft. “Unleash the sea.” 

I shook my head automatically. “No, of course not. There are always limits.”

“Maybe that’s the point. To remove the limits.”, Cassandra said.

“I can’t do what I can’t do, Cassandra.” I was a little irritated now.

“What I’m saying is – do you really know what you can or can’t do?”

“Of course I do! I was taught almost all my life –“

“Yes, you were taught, and taught well. To be judicious. To not do evil with your magic. Taught to respect limits. But just because you were taught not to let your powers run rampant, it doesn’t mean that you cannot be _made_ to.”

This brought me up short. Leliana had said something similar to me after I had arrived at Skyhold. A strange silence fell during which everyone looked at me. Solas’ gaze was keen, glinting. Varric’s mouth pulled into a frown. Cullen looked worried. With an abrupt motion, I stood and began pacing between the tables.

“Look, I’m not some… some magical bomb ready to explode. I still have a say in all this. And I will not let it happen! I won’t be a part of whatever plot these Venatori have thought up. This has gone too far.”, I declared, my voice fierce.

“Hear, hear!”, Varric exclaimed. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cassandra give a respectful nod.

There was a pause as I came to a decision. I examined my right hand. It had held a needle a few days ago, with utter precision. And while I had been with Cullen during the ritual, I had felt the reassuring weight of the sword in my hand, the sense of control and calm that settled over him in battle. I flexed my fingers.

“I’d like you to teach me how to fight.”, I said, swerving my gaze to Cullen. He looked stunned.

“What?”, he blurted in disbelief. Solas seemed surprised, too. Actually, everyone stared at me strangely. “You hate violence.”, Cullen pointed out when he had regained his wits.

“I do. But hating a thing doesn’t prevent it from possibly killing you. Or those you hold dear.” I locked my eyes to his, my expression imploring.

“I have never felt more helpless than in that alley. More useless and weak. My fathers have left me ignorant all my life. Ariu didn’t want me to learn the arts of war. He was heartily sick of violence. And Matthias… Well, he hardly ever knew what to do with me, anyway. The harlequin used a disruption field to deaden my magic. I think they used a similar thing on the Tidedancer during the storm. I could do nothing to help you. Nothing at all.”

Something in my voice seemed to touch him, because his features turned rueful, but he still looked hesitant. “I don’t like the thought of putting a blade into your hands. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Please… Just to defend myself. You keep your focus when you fight. You feel… in control. Teach me that, and I will be fine.”, I pleaded. He didn’t ask how I knew this. He didn’t have to. He d

“Alright.”, Cullen conceded eventually. I think the way my face lit up disturbed him, so I dialled back on my enthusiasm at once.

“Well, we still don’t know what exactly the Venatori are planning, but at least we have some leads. The harlequin’s mention of Samson, the poison, this… ancient gibberish we found on her. Leliana will have much to do when we return to Skyhold.”, Varric commented. 

“What matters most is that we stop any more of Corypheus’ schemes before they ever see the light of day.”, Cullen cut in implacably. “Samson’s list of wrongdoings is just getting longer and longer. I want him brought to justice. I want him to pay.”

As he spoke about Samson now, his voice held an even sharper edge than before, and I knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d hunted the rogue templar down. This matter had always been personal for him, but I had a chilly feeling that three days ago, Samson had signed his own death warrant. Wherever he was. In such matters, Cullen was not a forgiving man.

“And while we are at it, we can stuff all the red lyrium in the world down a giant sinkhole. And keep the Princess safe from crazy Vint schemes.” Varric affirmed with genuine enthusiasm.

“We finally agree on something.”, Cullen commented tersely.

“Don’t get used to it.”, Varric retorted.

* * *

When we had exhausted the topic of the assassin’s attack, everyone dispersed for a while. Cassandra stayed on the ground floor, writing reports that would probably land on every inner circle member’s table soon, and most of all Leliana’s. Varric ventured into the city for some last errands. Funnily enough, Solas accompanied him. I would have loved to visit the sea one last time before I needed to leave again, but I knew it was out of the question so soon after an attack.

The harlequin had been working alone, but there might be a dozen of her calibre looking for me right now. Even with the soldiers on guard, I couldn’t take such a risk just now. And Cullen would have thrown a fit at the idea, anyway. So I decided to go to my room, and was surprised when he followed me up the stairs. As I opened my door and entered, he halted, hovering at the threshold uncertainly. He searched my face before asking:

“May I join you?” The question was raised with a peculiar civility. It occurred to me that he had never _conventionally_ visited my room at Herald’s Rest, while I came and went through his realm on a daily basis as a messenger. Lately I had even forgotten to knock, once or twice. To be fair, the door was often ajar.

“Of course.”, I answered, sounding oddly out of breath. Why was I nervous all of a sudden? Because he made every room he entered seem smaller and rather airless, no matter if it was a tavern suite or the great hall at Skyhold. As the door closed behind him, I realized that we were alone and fully conscious for the first time since our kiss in the alley.

It was no wonder that I couldn’t keep my insides from playing a game of musical chairs in my stomach. Unable to concentrate, I paced around the room once – which took about three seconds. What do I usually do with my hands? No idea. I came to a halt at the window, opening it a little wider with a push of my forefinger. Cullen’s strange raven companion had flown off somewhere. Searching for food, perhaps.

Despite the puff of seaside wind blowing in, the air in the room felt burdened, as if it needed to support the abundance of subjects which hung between us. I shifted my weight uneasily, fussing over my sleeves.

Where on earth to start after all that had happened in the last two weeks alone? What do you say to a person you snatched back from death’s door after he had practically traded his life for yours? After you broke his trust and fled the very sight of him. Oh, and while we were at it, there was also this deeply intimate ritual we’d gone through together.

I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Or maybe I thought of too many. Cullen circled the bed, his steps cautious as he approached me. I glimpsed his uneven gait, the leg injury giving him a slight limp. He hid it well. I still noticed.

He came so close that I felt the warmth of his body at my back. Even in his weakened state, even in complete stillness he carried that aura of physical strength. I could smell him. The unique, mind-addling fragrance of his skin. Hunger overcame me, a primed reaction, an instinct. I shifted a bit closer. 

“Perhaps you should – maybe sit down, probably. You’ll tear my stitches. Yours. You’ll tear your stitches.” I deserved credit for assembling a coherent sentence, all things considered.

Cullen bent his head to my ear, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he dragged his jaw over my exposed neck. I definitely gasped. Gooseflesh rose along my entire left side on the heels of his unexpected assault. My senses kicked into life all at once, like horses jumping off the starting line in a race. And within seconds, they were hurtling, winded.

“You forgot to put in ‘perchance’ and ‘mayhap’.”, Cullen breathed, sounding both amused and… something that was anything _but_ amused. The deep timbre of his voice spawned an erratic flock of birds in my stomach.

“Nobody s-says ‘mayhap’. It’s… archaic.”, I managed.

The length of his body settled against mine, and a sudden, vivid memory of the Satinalia feast flashed before my eyes. The way he had kept his breathing controlled, consciously. The way he had tensed with my every movement. _You’ll be the death of me_.

Shit, those words had proven to be prophetic in the worst possible way. On the other hand, I knew now why he had said them. He’d been fighting the pull. Fighting against wanting me. His lips touched the sensitive shell of my ear for an instant, before he spoke again.

“True… Nobody does.” He paused for the time it took to skim his nose across an especially tingly spot on my scalp. I’d never known how excitable such an unassuming part of my body could be, not until he decided to explore it.

“You stitched my leg?” Why humour should colour his voice for that question, I couldn’t fathom.

“Aye.”, I gasped when his face nestled into my hair, and he exhaled a warm gust of air into it. Everything tingled now. From the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. The tension hummed between us, making me tremble along with it like a plucked string.

He knew. And he drew it out, savouring every single second. His hands came to rest around my hips, fingertips investigating the edge of my waistband. Occasionally tugging at the fabric of my tucked shirt.

“Were your hands steady?” He managed to pull free a fold, touched the soft skin on my lower belly. Just the faintest brush, like thistledown.

“Aye.” I was beginning to get dizzy. And delirious. I had never known Cullen had a playful side. Apparently, I was in for a surprise.

“Then why not now? Why are you nervous around me, now? After everything.”, he murmured tenderly, lifting one hand to still both of my fidgeting ones. It was the left, I registered inanely. I stared at the tattoo I’d stung, as if it was a hypnotist’s pendulum.

“You were… insensible then.”, I argued, distracted by the way he toyed with my fingers, ran his thumb over my palm.

“In a fashion, yes.”, he agreed. “But not when you wrote on my skin. Not when you held me with these capable hands. I felt it. Felt you.”

He remembered. At least parts of it. A great relief flooded me.

“I felt you too.”, I said in a mere whisper. Cullen sighed, long and deep.

“Then you should know… that the only possible course of action is to kiss me now. I need you to do that, sweetheart. I need you to…” A shudder went through his entire body, his hand flattening to my stomach, pressing me closer. By now the ink on my back amplified even the tiniest brush of fabric, and I wasn’t breathing at all well anymore.

“Maker, I’m terrible at this… I want you too much. I can’t think straight when you are this close. I know we can’t. I know we shouldn’t. Not here, not now. It would be madness. You made a madman out of me.”, his voice had turned dark and husky, almost dangerous. Thrills travelled along my spine at his wicked words, but he wasn’t done yet. 

“You have to take charge in this, Selkie. You must, because I can’t. I’m too far gone. I have no control. And I don’t even care anymore. The scent of your skin is enough to make me drunk. And this –“ He ground his hips into me, and I felt his hard length dig into the small of my back, rub against my soft backside.

“This happens every time we touch. This is how much I want you. I wouldn’t last a minute inside you. Maker, tell me I am not alone in this madness. If you don’t kiss me now, I’ll take you right here, right now, and damn the consequences.”

Well, alright then. I was officially in some other sphere, because Cullen had just said ‘_damn the consequences’_, and it had sounded like poetry to me. Vulgar poetry. Only one thing to do. I squirmed briefly against him, making him issue a pained groan. Shifting my body around halfway, I didn’t wait until I faced him. My arm wound around his neck, and I leveraged myself up. He was too damn tall, that’s what.

But it really seemed as though he wanted me to go through with this entirely on my own free will. It held some vital importance for him, my acquiescence. My assurance that he wasn’t alone in this madness. I caught a glimpse of his face before it blurred by proximity – jaw clenched, eyes blazing. Features hewn from marble. The colour high on his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Beautiful, doubt-riddled man. Just a little short of his mouth, I stopped.

“No regrets.”, I whispered against his lips. His arm tightened around me, and a deep rumble rose in his chest. Cullen titled his head, closing the last bit of distance still left between us. And I gave him what he wanted. I pressed my lips to his, sweeping my tongue into his mouth with an audacity I hadn’t thought myself capable of.

My hand came up to the side of his neck. It fascinated me, that spot. Where the river of his life rushed by beneath my fingertips. Alive, pounding with every beat of his heart. His hand slid to my backside, squeezed it through the thin leather, nearly lifting me off my feet. My ribcage hurt, but I’d have sooner separated a limb than shown a sign of my distress because I knew he’d withdraw immediately.

I wasn’t wearing a corset. My breasts were pushed up against his chest, and they felt heavy, aching. A keener, wilder burn chased away the one in my side, the poignant edge of wanting something so badly that you really think you might die if you don’t get it. I struggled for it, chased his tongue for more of his heady taste, even bit down on his lower lip.

I stretched and undulated against the hard planes of his body, like a cat demanding to be stroked, needing the friction, needing the pressure just to take the edge off. Cullen broke away from me with a harsh curse, and the next I knew, I was being hauled through the air, deposited onto the feather bed and soft sheets.

“Cullen! Your leg – you’re injured!”, I protested, a shred of my sanity returning. Cullen sat down at the edge of the bed, bracing himself on his elbow as he leaned over me.

“Hush. Let me worry about that.”, he murmured against my throat, his free hand sliding inexorably up my chest. Even with the fabric of my shirt in between, the touch sent bolts of lightning through my limbs. I was dangerously close to throwing all coherent thought to the wind.

I gasped when his fingers brushed the underside of my breasts, his tongue dipping into the hollow above my collarbone. He hadn’t shaved since he’d left Skyhold. The growing bristles tickled almost unbearably, crawling over my skin. I squirmed mindlessly.

“What secrets do you still hold, I wonder?” 

He moulded his palm to my breasts, testing the soft, generous mounds. His body shuddered above mine, chest deflating as the air left his lungs in a long, drawn-out hiss. My own breathing escalated. It was impossible to control. Not when he touched me like this. Not when he rubbed his thumb over the bud of a nipple, in torturously slow circles. Provoking the delicate tip to harden, and my core to liquefy to a pool of need.

My body didn’t feel like my own anymore. These urgent little sounds couldn’t be coming from my throat. I was just sensation, a vessel adrift on a sea of flames, a tune played by nothing more than the magic of his hands. I reached for him even as I had no idea what I was doing. My fingers fluttered across the taut muscles of his back like birds unsure where to land. With a few deft tugs, he eased my shirt open. Bared my chest to the cool air. And his gaze.

Sweet Maker, it was broad daylight outside. No comforting shadows to hide in. I was mortified beyond words but – the way he looked at me. Like a warrior of old at his spoils of war. Then the tawny lashes lowered over his eyes, and he bent his head as though surrendering to some overwhelming force. His mouth explored the soft feminine curve, opening when he reached the taut bud of my nipple. The tip of his tongue flicked out, teasing me in inquisitive little strokes.

I dug my fingertips into his powerful shoulders, feeling the tension inside him, drawn tight like a bowstring. I arched in helpless demand, pushed myself against him, into him. _Closer_, some primitive womanly instinct demanded. The secret place between my legs throbbed in rhythm with my untethered heart.

I could barely keep track of all the sensations. The journey of his lips, from one nodule of aching need to another. Up my neck, laving at the damp skin, tasting my desire. He caught the delicate lobe of my ear between his teeth, letting out a satisfied sound when my whole body jolted. He studied every little reaction with meticulous precision, adjusting his strategy along the way.

Advances, retreats. Moves and countermoves. This was tactical seduction. This was war waged on the grounds of my body, and I was hopelessly, ridiculously outmanned. If he bedded women with the same single-mindedness as he did everything else, I didn’t stand a chance.

His fingers moved down the flat expanse of my stomach. Lower. And lower yet. Until he reached the heated place between my legs, covered it with his hand. Reverently, lightly, as if it was a sacred relic. I shuddered with the strange new sensation, both exciting and unfamiliar.

“Nobody ever touched you here before.” His hoarse words at my ear didn’t sound like a question, but I answered anyway, somehow finding a sliver of my wits.

“No. Nobody but you.”

Cullen pressed he heel of his hand to that incredibly sensitive part of me, catching the uninhibited sound I made with his mouth. His kiss was possessive. Dominant. Greedy. _Mine,_ it declared. As if I had ever been anyone else’s. Ridiculous. His fingers fumbled with the ties securing my breeches.

He was impatient now. On a holy quest. Intuitively, I knew that I only needed to say a single word, and he’d stop. But nothing short of that would deter him. Not the sky dropping on our heads. Not a herd of wild horses galloping through the room. I felt more powerful than a queen.

He tugged the confining leather down my legs, and then it was gone, leaving me only in my smallclothes. All this time, he held his weight suspended on one arm. I was seriously beginning to worry that he’d exert himself, but he snatched away my awareness before I could ever voice an objection.

His hand slid beneath the thin linen, into the downy curls shielding my most intimate place. Fingers spreading the pulsing, wet folds, delving into heated flesh, saturated with the moisture of my arousal. He touched the very centre of my burning need, the tiny hooded bud right above the entrance to my body.

I was embarrassed beyond description, and too far gone to care. Thrilling currents raced across every inch of my skin, zinged from nerve to nerve. His touch creeped further down, almost hesitantly. As if he was afraid of what he would find. I bucked when a single finger found its way inside me.

All of my muscles locked tight, clenching around the intrusion. It burned, but that barely registered with my lust-addled brain. I thought I heard my name, or maybe a curse, or a harsh, primordial prayer. I was riding a tidal wave, right into the centre of a storm. Exhilaration flooded me, carrying me away.

I struggled for a nameless thing that could be chased but never caught, and my hips lifted on mere instinct. It was right there, within reach, somewhere beyond the horizon, somewhere within me and yet not. He held it in his hands, the key, the power to make this wheel of fire rolling over me stop. Or maybe break me in two.

“Please!”, I begged, writhing with the exquisite tension building inside me. It was unbearable. I didn’t know if I wanted him to go on, because whatever came hurtling towards me was frightening in its intensity. At the same time, I knew I’d expire if I didn’t reach it. Suddenly, he withdrew. I wanted to scream with frustration.

“No! Don’t – don’t stop, please!” My wail hadn’t even died away when I was rearranged on the bed. Shifted sideways, pushed upward until my head nearly dangled over the edge of the mattress. Knickers drawn down to my ankles. Completely bare from the waist down. My breath turned manic, making my ribcage jump with helpless jolts, my chest heave uncontrollably.

“I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I need to taste you, or I’ll go mad.” Taste…? What did he…

Warm, rough hands smoothed down the insides of my thighs, pushing them open all the way. I was blinded by my wild desire, deafened by the rush of blood in my ears. But I felt his searing breath as it stirred the cushiony little triangle between my legs, my last line of concealment. Oh Maker, he would put his mouth there. I just knew it.

I didn’t dare to look down. His face was closer to my most female place than I had ever been. He must be staring right at it… I thought I might die from shame. The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, as though he’d been running for ten miles straight. The same hand that wielded a blade with utter steadiness in battle now trembled on my skin. I felt his excitement. His rush of triumph. His hunger.

A small cry escaped me when he pressed his mouth into the dark curls. He split the folds of my sex with one long, lush lick. My head fell back, my hips peeled off the mattress. My body bowed to the sensual assault, and whatever presence of mind I had retained until then absconded.

Everything centred to the slow laps of his tongue, the demanding urgency of his mouth. Sleek, sinewy torment. He gave me no quarter. He was merciless. Left no part of me unconquered. His fingers parted me, exposing _everything_. Delving into every last secret my body held.

And sweet mercy of god, he took his time. His bold tongue found places I hadn’t even known existed, circled and taunted the bud of sensation above my opening, then pushed inside me, tasting my very core. As if he could never get enough. He repeated what made me squirm and moan, held me still when I flinched away, granting me no reprieve from the hailstorm of pleasure he battered me with. I tried to keep the moans inside, bit my lip so I wouldn’t start keening. I think he _enjoyed_ driving me to the edge again and again.

I’d never known him to be hedonistic, but it seemed that in bed, the turned into an entirely different version of himself, both playful and fierce. There wasn’t anything artful or refined about the way he fairly devoured me. He did it like he only just learned how. Like he gloried in every drop of pleasure he wrung from me. With no warning, he suddenly sucked the taut node above my opening into his mouth. Flattening his tongue against that scintillating bundle of nerves that throbbed as violently as a second heart.

Light exploded behind my lids. The vibration of his low groan shattered me. My spine arched off the bed, thighs jerking uncontrollably, my body shaking as though struck by thunder. I was flung over a cliff and into a place where stars danced. The peak of ecstasy was so acute, I felt struck dumb by it. I was everywhere. Within everything. Incoherent words left my lips, but for the life of me, I had no idea what they were. The sound of ringing bells reverberated through my ears, and I sang along with their gorgeous hymn.

In my wild abandon, I might have yanked on Cullen’s hair a bit too forcefully because I heard a hiss, but the agonizing force of my release drowned out all else. I had never felt something remotely comparable to this. How could anyone bear it? It was too much. I thought if it didn’t stop, I would die. And I would die in rapture.

But eventually, it did stop. The violent pulses died down to little electrifying aftershocks as Cullen’s tongue gentled its relentless crusade, but not before drawing my shivers out for as long as he could. I pleaded with him to stop. Or I think I did. He had reduced me to some senseless, empty vessel. My body sank back onto the bed in a boneless stupor, like a puppet released from its strings. It took an inordinate amount of time for my heart to cease its unbridled race, for my breathing to return to normal. I lay there listlessly, spent. Vacant. Thoroughly ravished.

Cullen shifted me so very carefully, taking my limp form into his arms. He pulled a blanket up to my hip. He kissed my damp forehead, my closed lids, my burning cheeks. My swollen lips.

I could taste my own wanton essence on his tongue, smell myself on his skin. I could feel his hard length wedged between us. He was still painfully aroused. It scared me a little, to be honest. How could _that_… ever fit inside me? My exhausted heart gave one erratic jolt. When I found enough strength to open my eyes, his face came into focus above me. He looked stricken, incredulous, staring at me as if I was a manner of creature he’d never seen before.

“What –“ I had to clear my throat because my voice sounded like a wet dishrag squeaking over wood. I tried again. “What’s wrong?” Cullen’s eyes widened.

“Nothing is _wrong_. I just didn’t think I would… succeed.” He bent down to touch his brow against mine. “If I die tomorrow, I’ll die having tasted your pleasure. Knowing that I can make you come apart with my hands, my mouth… Hearing my name gasped in that sinful voice…” I shuddered as his words. They slid through me like honeyed mead, warming my insides.

“You’re a wicked man.”, I managed as warmth and exhaustion weighed all my limbs. “You make everyone believe that you’re this… paragon of virtue. And then you go an say things like that… And _do_ things like that…”

“I think you enjoy it when I’m wicked.”, Cullen murmured.

“Oh, I do. I absolutely do. Don’t you dare tell anyone about your secret wickedness. I want it all for myself.” A wonderfully pleasant languor spread through me. I was completely relaxed, pliant.

“Yes, my lady. I am all yours.”, he said archly. But beneath the amusement, there was a rather serious undercurrent in his voice. Stifling a yawn, I closed my eyes. Lids growing heavy. Sleep encroached on my thoughts. But when Cullen moved to settle himself into a comfortable position beside me, I was reminded of the persistent hardness against my hip.

“You’re still… You didn’t…” My words came out slurred. I forced my eyes open again, looking up at him. The afternoon sun softened the angles of his sculpted face. His hair was mussed – my doing, I guess. Its usual order thrown into chaos, the gold strands lay haphazardly wherever they would. Some especially defiant ones had fallen across his forehead. It gave him a decidedly roguish appearance, even more so when the corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. Had he ever looked more handsome? When he spoke, his tone was rueful.

“No… I didn’t. But I might as well have, when you…”, he stopped and took a deep, conscious breath. His eyelids flickered restlessly for an instant, before he mastered himself. “But it’s alright, sweetheart. You are exhausted. I can see it in your eyes. Sleep now, and don’t worry about anything.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said.”, he interrupted me gently. “But your well-being is the most important thing to me. It’s enough for me to know that I have brought you pleasure. I don’t need more than that to feel satisfied.” His hand came to rest on my side lightly. He seemed to listen to my calm breaths, maybe searching for signs of distress, but everything was serene within me. Silent and still.

I would have loved to argue with him, but his last remark had somehow tenderly undermined the final resistance I held against sleep. I felt it reach for me as my mind slowly shut down, sinking into a mellow fuzziness.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I was… worried sick about you, my love. You were all wrong, your beautiful qai nearly gone. But I held you on this side… with everything I had.”, I breathed, already too drowsy to know what I was saying. He stilled for an instant, his hand reaching up to cradle my head to the very place where his heart beat, steady and sure. I felt his chest expand with a heavy sigh.

“I know… I know. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Nobody will lay a hand on you. Nobody will harm your peaceful spirit as long as I live.”

I believed him. Without the shadow of a doubt, I believed in him. Because he was the same man whose will stretched out to stop the sun in the sky and keep the nightmares from descending. And even if such a thing is impossible, in my heart he had succeeded.

Without his strength, without the will to fight his fears, to still choose life after _everything_ – I might have been too late to save him. It is so much easier to choose death when life becomes too messy, too painful. Clean exit. No more suffering. But knowing that, and still saying yes to life – that may just be courage, realized.

Someday, in twenty years or so, I would tell him. I would tell him that he had saved himself, and I’d merely helped. He might not believe me. He might shake his head and give me that frown I adored and say it had been all me. It would be so like him.

I slept as Cullen kept vigil over us, and didn’t even dream a thing. 


	26. XXVI. Sword and Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback for the last chapter, it gives me more confidence for the things to come!! <333  
So after the excitements of the last few chapters, these two have a few days of relative calm ahead of them (finally!). Here's a bit of light-hearted fluff and fun. And I really enjoyed writing the last part in this chapter :D

### XXVI. Sword and Feather

_The Weaver_

* * *

Our journey back to Skyhold was relatively uneventful. We were escorted by a considerable contingent of soldiers, some of them brought by Cassandra and some from the local garrison in Jader who insisted on seeing us safely on our way. Although Cullen kept his cloak around his shoulders, folded carefully over his arm as he held Shadow’s reins, I was sure many of the men had seen the tattoo. He didn’t exactly try to hide it, and I had a suspicion that news about what had happened would spread quickly once we returned to the keep.

Soldiers were rumoured to be notorious gossips. In a few days, I would likely hear some wildly exaggerated version of the tale, like… that I’d used dragon blood as ink and had made Cullen into some invincible super-soldier thereby. I shook my head, smiling as I crooned to Gambit. The weather was kind, the chilly winter air making way for the first budding warmth of spring.

Wintersend approached us, and the signs were everywhere. Fields of virgin snow slowly melting in the sun, leaving tiny patches of yellow grass peeking from the ground like tufts of fur. The little icicles hanging from tree-branches were dripping meltwater onto the mottled under-brush. I could feel it seep into the forest floor, nurturing new things to grow. I even saw snowdrops here and there, pioneer flowers heralding the turn of the season.

We rode sedately up the winding road, between evergreen pines shedding the weights of winter and golden aspen trees, whose colourful crowns would soon not be the only patches of brightness anymore. Not for the first time, I knew a profound appreciation for the land I had kept my distance from before all of this. The sea had been my home for many years, but the intricate beauty of the land had sent its roots into my heart, taking hold there as well.

A second home, or perhaps two pieces making a whole at last. I had become a woman of two worlds, and it felt like… something fallen into place, something complete. It did not sadden me overly much to leave the proximity of the sea, because I knew it would always be there to welcome me back. I breathed in the air which had lost winter’s merciless bite at last.

My qai unfolded gently into the surrounding scenery, just for the sole reason to feel the life around me. The horses, some of them a little restive because they preferred a faster pace than the one we set. Cullen and Cassandra riding beside me, Varric and Solas a little further behind. Other auras, little lively spots of humans in between the much older, much fainter flow of life within the trees. I felt small animals scurrying through the under-brush, and one larger presence hiding at a distance, waiting for our procession to pass by. A fox, maybe.

Water was everywhere, doing a thousand little things and yet fitting itself seamlessly into the balance, as it always did. Then I heard a caw, and an impish will-o-wisp of an aura descended from above.

Cullen’s raven – I called him Cullen’s now, because he was certainly not Leliana’s anymore – swooped down on us when we were about halfway back to Skyhold. He landed on his unwilling master’s shoulder in a flurry of wings, squawking accusingly.

“Oh, for the love of…”, Cullen exclaimed, shifting a little in the saddle. He shrugged deliberately to shake the bird off, but it didn’t do much. The raven kept his footing, his piercing black eyes glinting almost as though he enjoyed himself. I bet he did.

“I thought he was finally gone. But he keeps returning, like fungus.” I laughed at that, which made Cullen frown and Cassandra glance at us what all the fuss was about.

“That’s one of Leliana’s ravens.”, she commented drily.

“I think this one chooses his own master.”, I said, still trying to curb my mirth.

“His name is Tweaker.” The bird issued a self-important noise and it seemed to me he puffed out his chest at the sound of his name. Cullen eyed him dubiously. “I think Leliana wanted to punish me. She knows I hate these noisy creatures.”

“Why would she want to punish you?”, I queried with a distinct chuckle in my voice.

“Because I kept asking her the same question too many times, if she had any messages from Jader.” This gave me pause, and I momentarily fumbled with Gambit’s reins.

“But… You must have gotten reports from your soldiers.”, I hedged. Cullen turned his head and gave me an exasperated kind of look. Oh. He meant messages from _me_. I caught Cassandra directing her attention to the road ahead, but a muscle twitched at her cheek suspiciously. She was suppressing a smile.

“I wanted to write almost as soon as I’d arrived.”, I confessed earnestly. “But I have never been much of a… a letter composer. I kept getting it all wrong.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t all wrong.”, he placated me while Tweaker began nestling into the fur collar of his cloak. Cullen gave a fatalistic sigh.

“I think he wants you to pet him.”

“I’m not touching this bird with three gloves and a bottle of spirits. He’s surely rolled around in all kinds of carrion.” He looked disgusted by the very notion. I shook my head.

“Nonsense. They bathe and keep themselves clean. Besides…” I pulled off my glove and stretched an arm out to Tweaker, who promptly jumped off Cullen’s shoulder when he saw the offer. He landed lightly on my wrist. I smoothed my forefinger down the downy-soft fluff on the raven’s chest. Tweaker tilted his head back in gratification, staying perfectly still.

“Besides”, I continued. “The more you deny him attention, the harder he’ll try to get it.” Cullen observed my hand with undue intensity and a nick between his expressive brows. After an extended round of stroking, I deposited the bird onto Gambit’s neck, right above the swell of my saddle. He promptly plopped himself down like a mother hen unto her unhatched eggs. My horse didn’t seem to mind carrying a stowaway. I threw Cullen a meaningful look as though saying ‘See?’. 

“You seem to know a great deal about ravens.”, he murmured quietly. My lips tilted into a dimpled smile.

“Not really… Just about stubborn, prideful creatures. A little gentleness goes a long way with them. As for why he follows you around… You know what people say: Birds of a feather flock together.”

I had never heard Cullen laugh out loud before, but now I did. He threw back his head and the sound of his delight echoed through the mountain forest around us. Like his voice it was deep and sonorous, reverberating through my chest, striking all kinds of chords in my heart.

I cannot quite express the answering joy I felt at his laughter. There was a sanguine brightness about him then, blithe even. As if for the first time in years, he looked at himself and accepted what he saw with a grain of humour. Allowed a little room for flaws.

His laughter was contagious. It caught up with me first, then Cassandra. She smiled for real now, which was a rare occurrence on his own. It even spread to some of the soldiers, who all wore the same stupefied grins on their faces as I probably did.

“What did you do, Princess?”, Varric called merrily from behind us. “Tell the funniest joke in the world?”

I turned in the saddle and opened my mouth to speak as Cullen seemed to regain his composure. I was side-tracked when he brought his mount neck to neck with mine.

“I deserved that. I truly did.”, he said softly, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “But such cheek from you should not go unanswered.”

Out of nowhere, he caught the collar of my jacket and pulled me in just as he leaned a little sideways in his saddle. I was too surprised to do a thing. His mouth came down on mine in a brief, mind-boggling kiss that left me stunned. A series of bawdy catcalls and other ribald sounds of encouragement followed in its wake.

“What – I – it’s –“, I spluttered when he broke away again, scrambling after my fleeing wits. “There are soldiers all around –“ Cullen didn’t look the slightest bit put-out.

“They can keep their Commander’s secrets.”, he told me gravely before calling out to a man riding in our immediate vicinity. “Brendan, did anything unusual happen here, just now?”

The soldier sat his mount with utter discipline, his gaze pointing straight ahead. “I wouldn’t know, Commander. I am watching the road for ambushers.”

“Carry on.”, Cullen instructed, satisfied. “See? Completely trustworthy.”

“Well, I sure am not, and I’ll tell it to anyone who will listen.”, Varric interjected. He sounded like a dog with a bone. Cullen shook his head and exhaled a stoic breath.

“Of course you will. You are physically incapable of keeping your mouth shut.” To me, he said much more gently: “At least I won’t be hounded at feasts and balls anymore.”

“I’m not so confident.”, I answered with a sense of foreboding. “You seem to be developing some aberrant, rakish streak all of a sudden.”

“Maybe I am going through a revival of adolescent silliness, if I ever had one in the first place. I don’t think I did. Won’t you let a man have some fun before his age catches up to him?”, he asked me casually. I was still puzzling over his unexpected light-heartedness, so it took some time until I answered.

“You say ‘age’ like you are a hundred years old, when you’re barely…”, I wanted to point out, but then I realized – I didn’t even know with which number to finish that sentence! “How old are you, exactly?”

“A hundred feels just about right sometimes.”, he commented in a self-deprecating undertone. “Twenty-nine. Almost thirty.”

“Well, that’s nowhere near the threshold when you can start complaining about age! You still have… at least fifty more years before you are allowed to call yourself old.” Cullen chuckled, his expression indulgent as he glanced at me.

“It’s good that you have such faith in my longevity. It gives me something to aspire to, since I should not like to disappoint your expectations.”

Aye, you better not, I thought passionately. I should have gone up to sixty. Damn. Then it occurred to me that he’d said ‘almost thirty’.

“How long yet before you turn thirty?”, I probed curiously. Cullen seemed to do a mental count.

“What is today’s date?”

“It’s the second of Guardian today.”, Cassandra answered seamlessly. Cullen nodded.

“Three days, then.”

“Your birthday is three days from now?!” My exclamation of surprise might have been a bit more drastic than I’d planned. Tweaker flinched and Gambit cantered a sideways a bit, agitated by the sudden noise.

“Maker’s Breath, Selkie. Why are you shouting?” Cullen pulled his mount back into balance since Shadow had startled too.

“I need to find a gift –”

He stared at me with a peculiar alarm, as though I had just started speaking in tongues.

“No, you don't. Three days ago, you saved my life. How do you intend to surpass yourself after _that_ gift?”

His tone was sombre by the end, but so was the reply I gave him, my voice suddenly serious, the light jokes forgotten.

“Don’t call it that, Cullen. Please, never call it that. You make it sound as if there is some sort of debt to be repaid. No, I’ll hear no such crazy talk. It was a matter of course, end of discussion.”

I said this quietly enough so only he would hear, but that didn’t make my statement any less severe. When it was silent for a long time, I caught him gazing at me in concentration. As though he was seeking the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t look away. When he seemed satisfied with his findings, he broke the mesmerizing staring contest and squared his shoulders.

“As you wish, my lady. Still, as your soon-to-be instructor, I shall tell you: You’ll not always come out on top when sparring with me.”

That ominous warning sent a series of chills down my spine. A vivid memory which I’d been trying to hold at bay flashed through my head. Of his mouth and tongue, driving me into a mad, frenzied release while I writhed beneath his relentless assault. The sheer enjoyment he’d taken in it.

I didn’t know if he’d intended the double entendre, but he definitely succeeded in reminding me of what he was capable of on an entirely different ground than the battlefield. No, I would most assuredly not always come out on top. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t look forward to being laid flat on my back again.

* * *

We entered through the gates of Skyhold late in the afternoon, with Leliana and Josephine waiting to meet us. Although our spymaster had put effort into keeping the news of what had happened in Jader quiet, it somehow must have spread anyway. I saw several soldiers stare at me with unconcealed awe on their faces or whisper to each other as we passed by.

A few of Cullen’s officers came to greet him, giving him comradely pats or expressing their relief that he was well. He winced every time someone touched the tattooed arm, but refused to go into much detail about the happenings.

Still, they must have known a vague recount. As I had predicted, this would be blown widely out of proportion – most of them shook my hand in gratitude or spoke to me directly. I repeated the phrase ‘Don’t mention it’ so many times, I started feeling like a parrot. I didn’t enjoy scrutiny and excessive attention, I never had. Leliana shooed everyone away soon though, and we assembled for a long session to chew through everything yet again.

We were joined by the newest addition to the Inquisition advisor’s ranks, Lady Morrigan. I hadn’t yet seen much of her. She had arrived at Skyhold after we’d returned from Halamshiral, and mostly kept to herself.

Morrigan was a tall, sinuous woman with hair as black as mine, yet hers didn’t seem to have the penchant to do whatever it wanted. It was arranged in sleek strands around her enigmatic features, while her strangely coloured, yellowish eyes assessed her surroundings with a perpetually calculating gaze.

She wore an unusual arrangement of clothes which made me think of forest tribes Old Sam had once described encountering on a treasure hunt, far in the southern wilderness. Her aura was a confusing web of nebulous corridors, an obscure labyrinth hiding many old, untold things. She made me uneasy, but I tried to remind myself that she was the Inquisition’s occult advisor now. And I mostly reported to Leliana, anyway. Her, I trusted.

“It seems this little leisure journey was lined with dangerous pitfalls for both of you.”, the spymaster said. “And either of you return with more than you left with. Hearing you speak at last, Selkie, I must say it takes a bit of getting used to.”

“But you have both returned in one piece. I am so glad to see you well. And all things aside, you have a rather fetching voice.”, Josephine added feelingly. Affection for her filled my heart. I’d barely gotten off my horse in the courtyard when she’d pulled me into a warm, welcoming hug. These had truly become my people. Being among them again felt like home. 

“The voice is only temporary.”, I said with some regret. “Once you get used to it, I will lose it again. Solas says he doesn’t expect it to last longer than two weeks. It was only an echo, after all.”

Leliana frowned as Morrigan surveyed me pervasively.

“Voice-stealing? A quaint little relic from Tevinter seeing a revival? The Inquisition does keep interesting company. Waterweavers were supposed to be extinct, but it seems the old branch is still alive. And that…” She nodded her head towards Cullen’s left arm.

“That is a fascinating little piece of spirit healing, indeed. A… what was the translation again? Ritual of balance. On a non-mage. I must say, I am intrigued about how you managed it.” I was treated to a piercing look from her eyes, which I evaded.

“You know about the ritual?”, I asked instead, shifting on my seat.

“Old knowledge should always be preserved.”, Morrigan answered judiciously. “You might call me an eager student of the mystic and the forgotten. Knowing such arcane secrets is my occupation as an occult advisor.” 

I sidestepped around further questions about the ritual although Morrigan kept throwing them casually into the conversation. Leliana left the issue alone after the first time I had answered her only vaguely, maybe because Cullen had given her some subtle cue. Or perhaps she understood that I wouldn’t talk about it either way. Morrigan didn’t afford me the same courtesy, but then again, she didn’t know me, and therefore had little notion of how personal all of this was for me.

“So, we have the poison on one hand, and these parchments the harlequin carried on the other…”, Leliana summed up at some point.

“The poison was most certainly magically altered.”, Morrigan cut in. She surveyed the parchments laid out on the war table. “The symbol of the Water Twins… Elya and Elwin. Fascinating. This here is old knowledge, almost forgotten now.”

It worried me how much this woman knew. Have our secrets been much less secret than I thought? How many more people had known? Morrigan must have caught the disconcerted expression on my face.

“I visited old elven ruins in eastern Ferelden once, far into the Brecilian Forest. They are not easily found. On a cliff overlooking the sea there was this single pillar, with this symbol carved into it. I pieced together the legend with great difficulty and many hours of translating.”

She paused, looking at the foreign writing on the other piece of parchment.

“This, on the other hand... Curious! I recognize a word or two, because they look similar to the way they are written today. By the pattern of the words, I would say t’is a poem. In the second verse here, it says ‘silence’, and this here means ‘chaos’. The rest... Well, I am not an expert on archaic imperial language.”

“We will have to wait for Dorian then. I don’t trust anyone else to be discreet with this translation.”, Leliana said.

The discussion went on and on like this. I tired of the long review session rather quickly, my exhaustion rising to the forefront again. My answers turned monosyllabic and a shade cranky, I suppose.

“That will be enough for today, Leliana.”, Cullen said when he started to notice my retreats into silence. “Selkie can be dismissed now. I will answer what questions you might still have. It has been an arduous couple of days.”

Leliana’s intelligent gaze assessed me briefly before she gave a nod. “Of course, you are right. Get some rest, Selkie. I have everything I need from you, for now. And…” She paused for a heartbeat. “Thank you for saving our Commander.”

I smiled. “You are very welcome, my friend.” As I stood a bit more woodenly than usual, I let my eyes wander between Leliana and Josephine once.

“It feels good to be back home.”, I told them with deep sincerity. I didn’t wait for the astonished looks to fade from their faces before I turned, gently laying a hand on Cullen’s shoulder.

“Remember you are off-duty.”, I whispered.

“Yes, madam. I have not forgotten your orders.”, he replied obediently, then added in a softer tone: “Sleep well.”

I didn’t miss the bafflement on the other three’s faces at our new, casual familiarity with each other. 

It didn’t feel quite right to return to my room after everything that had happened, but the well-known surroundings helped me to relax. I wished Cullen would have invited me to sleep in his tower, but I knew not to expect such an audacious request from him so soon. We were still finding our footing in these strange new circumstances.

Jader had been like something outside of time and space, a nightmare that had turned into a dream in the end. And now we had awakened back in the real world. We would have to find our balance here as well, but I knew we had left doubt well behind.

I missed Cole’s presence near me, though. He usually dwelled in the attic above me, his purely focussed aura a comfort in the night. I hoped he would be back soon. When I awoke the next day at dawn and got ready to resume my daily routine, I was surprised to find a sumptuous breakfast and small stack of messages on my table. Well, I must have come back to an Upside-Down world. Messenger turned into recipient. Nibbling on a generous slice of honey bread, I went through them one by one.

_Lethallin,_

_I hope you had a good first night back at Skyhold. If you are amenable to the idea, you may wish to visit me for a thorough inspection of your injury. I can perform a proper healing spell now that you have regained some strength. I should warn you, though. Lady Vivienne insisted on watching me work, expressing her doubt that ‘barefoot apostates from the back of beyond know how to handle such things’. I would feel insulted if I didn’t know that she acts this way with everyone._

_Solas_

The next one was from Josephine.

_Dear Selkie,_

_Let me again express my joy that you have returned to us safely. Furthermore, I wish to tell you that my conscience plagued me after you left. I realize that I may have reacted with sentiments of disappointment towards you during the story of your father, and would personally like to assure you of my earnest regrets in this matter. Please see me when you have some time, so we can catch up properly. Cullen tells me you may not like hearing this, but you did us a great service when you saved him. The Inquisiton is in your debt._

_Remaining in earnest friendship,_

_Josephine_

I sighed. She seemed to be forgetting that Cullen was only attacked because of me in the first place. Everyone seemed to be forgetting that. But I wouldn’t. I folded her note into a small inner pocket of my shirt. Now followed a long message from Leliana.

_Selkie,_

_Good to have you back, and seemingly you resolved some personal issues during your absence. I knew you would, naturally. The poison used by the harlequin is being examined by our best alchemists and Dagna as I write, and my agents are trying to backtrack the assassin’s movements. It might not yield much, but I have also redoubled my efforts searching for signs of the Venatori ship, codename ‘Red Dragon’, as well as re-examining the area where your personal effects were found. Not quite easy, since another pressing matter occurred while you and Cullen were absent, fighting this ill-timed assassin incursion._

_Warden Blackwall has disappeared. We do not yet know why, and the Inquisitor is still away on assignment. Blackwall left me with little to go on, but I am trying to determine his whereabouts. What happened to the Wardens at Adamant must have shaken him deeply. He was never quite the same afterwards. Still, that he would abandon us now is baffling. Something strange is afoot._

_On a different but just as baffling note, Cassandra informed me that Cullen is to be relieved from most of his duties for ten days. I hear you are responsible for this miracle. I wonder how it will work out? He is already eyeing the reports I took from his desk like a mabari robbed of its favourite toy. I prefer ravens over mabari, if you ask me. Perhaps you can keep him from chewing his leg off in these days. Take a few days to recuperate as well, but not too many. I miss my courier. The replacements are never quite as efficient._

_Leliana_

The last message was from Cullen. I recognized his bold, succinct script before I even read the first sentence.

_Sorceress_, he wrote, making me smile. He came up with the most wonderful nicknames for me. Sorceress. Siren. _Sweetheart_.

_I already don’t know what to do with myself. Leliana took away my things. Most of my things. She laughed while she did it. Maker, that sounds rather childish. I know it’s for the best, but doing nothing all of a sudden just feels… wrong, somehow._

_I considered your request to learn sword fighting, and think I have found a weapon which would suit you. Since you are still recovering, we won’t be doing any difficult exercises, but I can show you the basics. If nothing else, it will occupy my wandering mind…_

_Meet me in the lower courtyard at noon, if that time suits you. Rescue me from boredom._

_Yours Ever,_

_Cullen _

I read the addendum he had scribbled hastily below:

_Both the tailor and the blacksmith think I am out of my mind now._

I visited Josephine first, who promptly invited me to stay a while. We talked for the better part of an hour, and after I had assured her that I’d never been mad about the whole (literal) inquisition they’d put me through, we fell back into our easily found friendship. She was genuinely happy that Cullen and I had put our issues aside at last, and even spoke to me about her relationship with Alec.

As Solas had suggested, I sought him out for an examination followed by a healing session. Lady Vivienne was already present when I arrived in the rotunda. She surveyed Solas’ spell-work with a critical eye, even asked him a few questions during the process. When it was finished, she turned to me, looking me over as if I was a horse she considered buying.

“You have handled yourself well in a difficult situation, my dear. It seems there is more to you than meets the eye.”, Vivienne said, her features serious. I blinked rapidly, unsure if I had heard right. It was the longest string of words she had ever uttered to me. And high praise, coming from her.

My bafflement had still not quite abated when I made my way to the lower courtyard at noon for my meeting with Cullen. I found him leaning against the side of the well near the mews, from where I had drawn water to douse the stable fire. He wasn’t armoured, only wearing a loose linen shirt and leather breeches. His hands were not gloved, but he held a long bundle I suspected to be the weapon he’d chosen for me. Seeing him dressed so casually would need a long time to get used to. When Cullen looked up and spotted me, he smiled.

“There you are.”, he said as I reached him. “A bit late, I might add. I hope it won’t become a habit.”

I made a face. “I’ll have you know, sirrah, that I had to go and get poked by some charlatan healer.”

“Ah, I see.”, Cullen grinned, then turned more sombre. “How is your rib?”

“Better. Solas says a few more days, and I will be as good as new.”

His features tightened almost imperceptibly, a reaction most people would have missed. I didn’t. I knew he felt responsible for the injury, which was ridiculous – all of this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if I’d stayed at Skyhold instead of fleeing like a wilful child. But I couldn’t change the past, regrettably. Sighing, I stood straighter.

“So, is this where you will teach me to fight? It seems a bit… public.”

As usually, the courtyard was alive with people. Merchant stalls where all kinds of equipment changed hands for proper compensation. Horses were trained, soldiers patrolled, maids drew water for the laundry.

“No, we won’t train here. Follow me.”, Cullen said, guiding me up the winding staircase leading to the kitchens.

He pushed open the door, startling a few maids who were in the middle of peeling potatoes and chopping onions. They all froze mid-motion, staring at us. Or rather Cullen. Due to his height, he had to duck beneath the bundles of garlic and herbs hanging from the low ceiling. One of the maids he walked past turned away quickly to hide her blush, but I saw her ears reddening as she fidgeted with loose strands of her hair.

“Just passing through.”, Cullen apologized neutrally. “Don’t let us distract you from your work.” Maker’s balls, he was sometimes so _obliviou_s.

“We’re glad to see you well, Commander.”, a brave girl with fiery hair piped up. The two beside her giggled and whispered to each other. I sighed in exasperation.

“Thank you.”, Cullen murmured as he reached the door on the other end.

“Alright, girls. Enough ogling. Back to work now, dinner won’t cook itself.”, Cook’s strict voice spoke from somewhere near the stove.

Cullen and a rather more annoyed version of myself left the kitchen and entered into a hall-like room. The large open space in the centre was carpeted and flanked by two rows of thick columns. A dozen lit candelabras were strewn across the place to grant light. There were no windows, but two large landscape paintings hung on the walls at each end of the room.

I had been here before, but only rarely and in passing, when I needed to deliver a message to Warden Blackwall quickly. I preferred going through the courtyard, since this hall (I suspected it to be a smaller dining room or audience chamber) was unused and kept dark most of the time. Cullen put the weapon-bundle onto a small table between two pillars and began rolling up his sleeves.

“You can’t tell me you never noticed it.”, I commented, still irked by the fawning kitchen maids.

“Noticed what, sweetheart?” He proceeded to unwrap the bundle he’d brought without looking at me.

“The way women get all giggly and witless around you.”

“I wish that were true. I could use a bit of witlessness from Leliana during war councils.”, Cullen replied humorously.

“Leliana is impervious. I meant…”, I began, but he interrupted me. 

“I know what you meant.” His voice had lost the light undertone as he stepped to my side. Tilting his head, he gazed at me pensively. “I do notice it. I don’t enjoy it, however. Their image of me is barely skin-deep. They think I’m handsome and heroic and exciting.”

I lifted a hand up to his face, brushing away one errant golden strand from his forehead. “Well… you are those things.” I paused long enough to see him launch into a protest, then continued:

“But you are also stubborn and overbearing. Reckless with your own well-being. You drink way too much black tea. You eat porridge with a fork instead of a spoon. Who does that? And you _always_ leave your ink bottles open. I lost count of how many times I weaved water into the dried stuff. And that’s just a few things off the top of my head.”

Cullen let out a laugh, flustering me with a view of his bare throat and the V-shaped patch of sun-tanned skin revealed by the open collar of his shirt. How was I supposed to learn sword-fighting if my instructor insisted on teaching me half-naked?

“And I think you have been hiding your cheeky, rebellious side from me all this time…” He bumped my chin playfully with his knuckles.

“But enough witticism. It’s time for your lesson.”, he adopted a business-like tone and picked up the weapon from the table, unsheathing it with a practised move.

“This”, Cullen said, handing me the blade grip-first. “Is an Antivan sabre. Have you seen one before?”

I inspected the sabre. Its blade was slightly curved and only sharp on one side.

“I think so… In Antiva, the dock-guards sometimes had swords similar to this. And some pirates as well, I think. None on our ship, though. I haven’t seen one up close.”

“Don’t worry, the edge is blunted. This is a practice weapon, but the weight and length are exactly like the real thing. It’s light, only thirty-five inches long. A perfect length for your height. Most warriors prefer a longer blade, with a greater reach and more force, but you are not a warrior. Burdening someone of your stature with a heavy sword would only hinder your strengths and freedom of movement. First thing to remember: The best weapon is tailored to the wielder, not the other way around.”, Cullen explained patiently.

“But… You learned to fight with all kinds of weapons, didn’t you? Shouldn’t I learn that too, so I can adapt to any situation?”, I asked doubtfully. Cullen gave me a faint smile.

“You’re right. I learned to fight with almost every weapon. If pressed, I could do battle with all of them. But I went through years of training, and at the end, I chose to wield the weapon best suited for me – the longsword. Only that kind of commitment can lead to true mastery. An old Fereldan saying goes like this: _There are two choices a man should make only once in his life. Choosing his weapon and choosing his wife_.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Cullen continued seamlessly. “Now, grip the hilt.”

Doing as he asked, I curled my fingers around the leather-bound hilt.

“No, not like that. You are not holding a cudgel. See this part?”, Cullen indicated the metal curving over the length of the grip. “This is called a knuckle-bow. Your hold should be like this, so your knuckles are protected from a strike at the hilt.”

With his own hands, he meticulously adjusted my fingers until he was satisfied. I tried to concentrate on his explanations, but it was difficult when his calloused fingertips sent tingles along every nerve-ending he touched. My face grew warm, and I groped desperately for thoughts that did not involve those hands ripping the clothes off my body and pressing me down to this carpeted floor to –

“Good. You got it right now.”, Cullen murmured, his voice low. “Now, widen your stance, left foot back, right leg slightly bent.”

I did as he asked, but he still kept correcting me.

“Wider, but not too much. You need to have enough reach, while holding a stance that allows you to escape quickly.”

To be honest, it was an entirely new experience, having him speak to me with his Commander’s voice – focused, concise, no-nonsense. I’d seen him instruct new soldiers and train with veterans, but now he gave _me_ commands. And that probably should not have aroused me as much as it did. Damn, I only heard half of what he said about forward-steps and side-steps and retreats.

I tested the reach of my sabre, swaying back and forth, executing a few clumsy cuts. Although Cullen had said it was a light weapon, its weight already seemed to be growing the longer I held it.

“Now, remember to keep up your guard and balance yourself with your free arm as you move. Never lower your guard. Don’t forget that your weapon only has an edge on one side. It’s also not made for stabbing, but slashing. We will test your posture against an opponent now.”, Cullen said after a while. I looked at him in surprise.

“But… you are unarmed.”, I pointed out. A mischievous glint came to his eyes.

“Are you afraid to hurt me?”, he asked fondly.

I bit my lip. “Well… Aye! I mean it’s blunted, but still… I didn’t think you’d ask me to whack you in our first lesson.”

Cullen took his place a few feet in front of me, assuming a similar stance as the one he’d taught me. I frowned when he gave me a lopsided smile.

“In order to hurt me, you will have to hit me first. Try your best.”

There followed two of the most excruciating hours of my life. I tried. I really tried. I slashed and hacked at him, reluctantly at first, then more forcefully as my frustration grew. But I couldn’t score a single hit on him. He side-stepped my inept strikes, retreated out of reach – sometimes at the last possible second. How could a man of his size move with such swiftness and ease? He was sinuous and quicker than a cat, evading me time and time again.

And to add insult to injury, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He watched my movements critically, anticipating them, countering them at every turn. I felt the exhilaration in his qai, the thrill of the fight. He was having fun.

After each of my attempts, he would suggest improvements, correct things I did wrong, instruct me in that sensible matter-of-fact tone. He didn’t ever patronize or coddle me, on the contrary. Cullen was a stringent teacher who took his promise very seriously. Still, he could at least have tried to hide his amusement about my struggles _a little_!

“I hit you this time! I saw it!”, I exclaimed when he had once again eluded me at the last instant. I was panting from exertion. The muscles in my arm burned and cramped after two hours of wielding the sabre.

“No, sweetheart. You hit dusty air, I assure you.”, he rebuked me mildly, standing at a safe distance. Beads of moisture gathered at his hairline, and he was out of breath from dodging my erratic strikes. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt bared the rippling muscles of his arms. A sheen of sweat glistened on his tattooed bicep, and I could see the pulse leaping at his throat. I swallowed compulsively.

“You’re distracting me. You’re practically naked.”, I blurted the accusation. Cullen’s face flooded with astonishment.

“I’m faster this way. And my arm-guards are being adjusted for the tattoo.”, he pointed out, puzzled. Suddenly, something much less innocent replaced his surprise. 

I grumbled an inarticulate answer, but the next I knew, his arm caught me around the waist, and he pulled me up against his body. My lungs filled with his scent, heated and enhanced by our vigorous exercise. I still wanted more.

“Enough for today.”, Cullen rasped, his sober demeanour disappearing. He pried the sabre from my hand at set it onto the table.

“And by the way...”, he murmured close to my ear. “You have been distracting me since the day you arrived here. It's only fair to return the courtesy.”

Instead of answering, I pulled him down to kiss me. Our lips met in a fierce, passionate encounter. I tugged at his shirt impatiently, trying to get to the skin beneath. Cullen’s hands roamed restlessly over the length of my body, but the corset I wore dulled the sensation of his touch. I wanted to keen in frustration, but instead I pushed his seeking fingers to the ties at the small of my back. He groaned and broke our kiss, breathing heavily into the mess of my hair.

“Void take it. We can’t… Anyone might come by.”, he said hoarsely, not hiding his reluctance to let me go.

“I hate it when you are the voice of reason.”, I whined.

“To be perfectly honest… I hate it too, sweetheart.”


	27. XXVII. Uncharted Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is this chapter so long? Ahem. It's also NSFW :>  
About time, I guess.... I kept you waiting long enough. I usually need time to "ease into" these kinds of scenes.. they are more romantic at first and get more explicit later. I call this the sexy part of the story because there are two chapters mainly dedicated to it, hrm. If you are reading this for the story, there will be some developments soon <3  
By the way, I just love the way Selkie goes through with her plan and sneaks into his bedroom :D It was something I decided very early on, and I had fun letting it play out.   
Have fun reading!

### XXVII. Uncharted Land

_The Weaver_

On the fifth of Guardian, I awoke feeling restless and smarting. I had barely slept all night. Too nervous, too anxious. But also excited. I had been cultivating a plan in my mind, and today I would have to put it into action. With not a whiff of an idea how. This must be the day I do this, despite the fact that I was utterly unprepared and utterly clueless in what I would attempt.

Today, I would seduce a man. Not just any man, of course. My heart already belonged to him. One last step remained to complete the cycle of connection we had started. It was only logical. Necessary even. I felt the pull, the gravitational force drawing me to him. It had been there from the beginning. The undeniable instinct that sooner or later, we would be upon each other.

Wasn’t there a saying about these kinds of things? Moth to the flame? Sailing close to the wind? I still didn’t quite know how Cullen managed to hold himself back after the Tongue Incident (aye, that is what I called it). He might have told me that he had no control, but it seemed he’d still had some shred of it left. I wanted to rip it out of his hands and smash it to pieces. I just had little idea how, specifically, to accomplish that. Up until now, I had mostly bumbled along and taken things in stride, but I had a feeling what I had in mind required a bit more finesse.

I sensed the tension in him each time he kissed me, however briefly, but he didn’t make attempts to get intimate again in the days after our return to Skyhold. I suspected he wanted to give me more time to recuperate, or perhaps for adjusting to the changes in our relationship.

I remembered what Dorian had once told me: In this, you may have to be the bold one. I guessed that I hadn’t been bold until now – except when drunk. I’d allowed the waves to carry me along and had only steered ever so lightly. But that had been then. Before Jader.

I guess it was no wonder that I felt daunted by the mere notion of attempting to seduce Cullen. On his birthday. I say ‘attempting’ because I wasn’t at all sure that I would succeed. Maker, this shouldn’t be so difficult! What was seduction, anyway? Getting a man into bed. Or a woman. Man, in this case. A damn magnificent example of his species, too.

I knew which parts went where, and the basic procedure – although some of the implications made me all jittery inside. Shit, now I sounded clinical, like I was dissecting something. No matter how sheltered I’d been, I had grown up among sailors. Yet that didn’t equip me for the fine art of seduction, it only made me a shade less ignorant to what went on in a bedroom. I was still a virgin. Still clueless. I needed help.

The Bull might have been a good source of advice, if he had been here. The Qunari warrior was incredibly candid and open about sexuality. I would have called him a libertine, even. He’d once told me that men like Cullen secretly fantasized about… being taken in hand. But whatever did that mean? As in, literally. In actual, concrete details.

Dorian was gone as well, so he was not an option. I might have had friendships to Varric and Solas, but no way. No, no, no. I needed a woman. Josephine or Leliana came to mind, but both of them were unsuited in their own way. Josephine was too refined. And Leliana too… spymaster.

But… Varric had said something about Cassandra. That she had a secret passion for his romance novels. Swords and Shields. She and I shared that guilty pleasure? I had read the series, too, although I hadn’t told Varric. He’d never allow me to live that one down.

Cassandra… She was discreet, judicious, and it seemed a hidden romantic. I didn’t know if she had any experience in the area I wished to ask her about, but… she had been around the world as the Right Hand of the Divine. I had a suspicion that despite her tough exterior and strong faith, she was a passionate woman. And passionate women must have personal lives, right? Or had, at some point.

So, I went in search for her. Funnily enough, Cassandra was at her usual spot behind the tavern, but not doing her usual fustigating of practice dummies. In fact, she was reading a book which I strongly suspected to be the newest issue of Swords and Shields, judging by the cover. Wait a second! Varric had told me he’d stopped writing the series! I approached Cassandra, who stayed oblivious to my presence until I was almost within arm’s reach. Completely engrossed. I leaned over her as I spoke.

“Did they let the Knight-Captain off the hook?”

Cassandra jumped off the stool like I’d just lit a fire beneath her backside. Her face lost all austerity, making way for an expression of shock.

“Maker above! Selkie – you startled me.”, she complained unevenly.

“I’m sorry…”, I apologized. “But there is no need to be embarrassed. You are talking to a fellow enthusiast.” It took some time until she overcame her initial awkwardness about having been ‘caught red-handed’.

“You… you read them too?”, she asked, incredulous. I bobbed my head.

“Aye, among other similar ones. I hope it has a happy ending. Does it? No, don’t tell me. Can I borrow it when you’re done?” She turned the book over in her hand sceptically.

“Of course. And I haven’t finished it yet, though. Varric gave me this latest issue just yesterday. I… I shouldn’t be reading them at all. They are just so tawdry. But…”, she left the sentence unfinished.

“But you love them?”, I supplied with a tilt of my head, to which she nodded guiltily. “I love them too. When I was a girl, I scavenged a romance novel from a chest the crew brought back on a treasure hunt. The ‘treasure’ was just a few personal keepsakes left behind by some minor Orlesian noble. Most of it was worthless. But the book kept me company. I read it so many times, the pages were falling apart.”

I let my gaze wander over the quiet morning courtyard around us. It was warm today, for Skyhold anyway. Spring-time had reached our doorsteps.

“Its title was ‘The Red Silk Scarf”. It had everything I always dreamed about. A dashing hero who always said the right things and always defeated the scoundrels. A fearless heroine who wore a red scarf and rode a horse faster than the wind. A great twist in the middle, and a wonderful ending.”

I smiled ruefully at the memory of my younger self.

“You dreamed about having such an adventure yourself.”, Cassandra inferred, looking thoughtful.

“Aye, I did. People romanticize the seaside life. Contrary to what most believe, it was never romantic and rarely adventurous. I started wearing red scarves after that book. Used an old mop as a make-shift horse. It drove my fathers to distraction. What I couldn’t fabricate was the dashing hero, though. Those are in short supply upon the sea. But girls can always dream.”

“But you are a girl no longer. Girls dream and wish. Women know and act.”, Cassandra said sagely, surveying me with her sharp eagle eyes. I contemplated this latest piece of wisdom as she went on rather softly. “You didn’t seek me out to reminisce, did you?”

Shifting my weight, I sighed and fumbled with my sleeves. “Aye, well… I mean no, I didn’t. I think you’re a – trustworthy and… decent woman, and I’m having troubles with something – personal. Maker, this sounded much better in my head.”

Cassandra’s brows shot up her forehead, but she endeavoured to school her features at once.

“This is about Cullen.”, she deduced at length.

“Look, I don’t know about these things. I never had a – a person before, a…” My clumsy words trailed away.

“Romantic involvement? A lover?”, Cassandra complemented succinctly.

“Both. Either. I’m having trouble with a… a certain part of a relationship. You know… the part that usually involves… Don’t make me say it, please. I mostly learned very rude expressions for it.” I had difficulty meeting Cassandra’s gaze, but somehow persuaded myself to do it. Understanding dawned on her features.

“Oh. _Oh,_ I see.”, she said. After an excessively long pause, she eventually added: “Go on.”

“I have rarely taken charge, you know. But now I want to take a step. A big step. It’s important to me, because I am usually… I’m rather – passive. No, wait that came out wrong. Actually, you know what, this isn’t working out. Just forget I ever said anything –“ I whirled around, certain that my face had flushed all kinds of red by now.

“Stop right there.”, Cassandra’s authoritarian voice rooted me in place. I stopped, turning halfway.

“Sit.” I sat. On the small stool she had occupied before. With my guts feeling all antsy. My ambushed advisor-victim took a breath.

“Alright, Selkie. I am going to tell you a story, and you are free to see it as an example of… taking charge. There was once a woman who fancied a man, a devout knight whose sense of honour was beyond reproach. He fancied her too, but she was a lady, and he wanted to protect her virtue even as he longed to be with her.

So, what did the woman do? She took matters into her own hands. One night, after the knight had won a grand tourney, she snuck into his tent beneath the cover of darkness, only dressed in a thin nightgown. When she stood before him, she declared that she had waited long enough, and simply slipped off the gown. Just like that.

The rest… is left to your imagination. But I shall tell you one thing: Even the most honourable man will think twice before turning out a naked woman from his bed.”

I gulped, processing this highly educational tale. A tale in which ‘a woman’ had sounded like she had a wilful streak, and quite a bold personality. Which made me wonder… Everyone had been young once, haven’t they? But I didn’t ask.

Cassandra had given me a very clear description of how I could start my seduction tonight. I somehow knew I didn’t need more than that. Between Cullen and me, things had always revolved around crossing lines. We were both cautious of overstepping our bounds, but I think he was even more so than I. He hovered on doorsteps, deliberating if he should go over or not. Once he took the leap, though… Things became intuitive. I’d make use of that now.

The entire day, I tried not to let anything of my crazy bold plan show, especially not towards Cullen. We went through our fighting practice more or less well, with me only dropping my sabre about three or four times. He frowned at me as he was prone to do when I proved myself a bumbling novice, but I didn’t think he suspected anything but clumsiness on my part. He did look rather flustered and a bit disappointed when I excused myself quickly after having dinner with him in his tower room. Just you wait, I thought mischievously.

Even after a meticulous bath (for once a warm one as well), brushing all the snarls from my unruly hair and putting on some flimsy nightshift (the latest of Josephine’s ideas to change my peculiar clothing style), it still took inexorably long until midnight came.

My anxiety was mounting to considerable heights, but I shoved it down. Instead, I flung the winter jacket around my shoulders and slipped into my boots. The moon was high in the sky tonight, its silvery light only dampened by a few fluffy clouds. Enough illumination, but not as much that I’d be spotted by every soldier walking the ramparts.

Alright, time to move. I didn’t take the obvious route through the tavern’s main floor, but instead went through a tiny balcony on the first floor which had a ladder secured to its railing. Technically, it was a fire safety ladder, only to be used in emergencies, so I was violating Inquisition rules. Well, nobody needed to know…

I slunk soundlessly through the dormant keep, slipped from one dark corner to the next, then up the stairs to the ramparts. I knew the guard rotation plan well by now, but Cullen’s men were professionals – and I wasn’t. Halfway across the battlements, someone spotted me.

“Who goes there?” Oh, damn. I had almost made it. I turned to the man who had waylaid me so close to my goal, putting my finger to my lips. It was Guard-Captain Ryker. His sharp eyes recognized me in the semi-darkness the torches did not reach, and his aquiline features went slack with astonishment. He never wore a full helmet.

“Lady –“, he launched, but I cut him short.

“Ssshh. Hush.”, I whispered. He immediately fell silent, but his eyes flickered to my attire, the nightgown peeking out from beneath my knee-long jacket, the unbound hair streaming down my shoulders. I glanced around if any of the other guards had seen me. It didn’t seem so.

“Ryker… I am on a quest. I need you to _not see me_ right now. If anyone asks, you have not seen me. Keep this quiet, please.”

He looked uncertain. “But, my lady… The Commander will want a watch report tomorrow and I can’t lie to him…”

“There will be no _need_ to report this.” When he still gazed at me with puzzlement, I sighed. “You won’t have to lie to _him_. _He_ will know. About my quest. But no one else. Do we understand each other?”

I saw the realization dawn on his face. It went blank like fresh parchment. “Ah. Yes. Of course. A quest. Yes, I understand. I have… not seen a thing. Good luck on your quest.” 

“Thank you.”, I signed the words rather than speaking them, before I continued my clandestine journey. I managed the rest of it without being seen by anyone else.

I don’t think I have ever stood before locked doors to Cullen’s tower, and thankfully he hadn’t taken up the practice now, either. Entering his study as quietly as possible, I closed the door behind me. The soft click it made sounded loud in my ears, but so did my heart. Which had started tossing itself against its cage with increasing speed and ferocity. I was here. I was inside. And I was a hopeless bundle of nerves.

* * *

The study lay in shadow, except for a very faint glimmer coming from the dying embers beneath the mantle. Oak desk and giant chair were just vague silhouettes outlined against the even blacker darkness beyond. I silently removed my jacket and boots, placing them on the stool flanking the chess table after a few seconds of breathless fumbling in the dark. A good thing I knew this place inside-out, otherwise it would have been difficult to navigate blindly. Now, for the most precarious part…

My blood raced madly through my veins when I put my hands onto the ladder and started climbing. As quietly as possible. Balance, keep your balance. Make no sound. Don’t take a false step. It was a good, trusty ladder.

Maker, was I really doing this? Was this really me, climbing a ladder into a man’s bedroom? With the intention to strip naked in front of his eyes? To ask him to… take me? Make love to me for real? To put his naked body against mine and… come inside me?

Holy shit, it was me. In these last moments, the insanity of my plan caught up with me. My breath hitched, and I began shivering, feeling the coldness of barely-yet-springtime wash over my skin. I was momentarily paralyzed and stunned by my own audacity. But then I remembered the fire. The flame dancing between us whenever we came close enough to each other.

And on the heels of my fear followed need, burning the cold numbness away. It chased down my spine, through my tattooed arms and back again, giving me the courage to climb the last few inches. No regrets. I would not be a coward now. I emerged into the bedroom and caught my breath, steeling myself. Reaching for that mettle that lived somewhere deep inside.

I took a brief look around. The bed was at the far end, with Cullen asleep in it. Bare-chested, in a sideways-position, a blanket covering him from the hip down. There was a fireplace inlaid into the left wall, also glowing with fading embers. Most of the scarce light came from the unthatched hole in the roof above. Moonbeams fell in between the splintered supports and crumbled tiles, casualties left behind by the vagaries of time.

Somehow this was so quintessentially Cullen. Letting the roof beneath which he lay down his head go unrepaired, because well… there were more important things that needed to be fixed. I took a step forward, then another. The moon’s silver light bathed everything it touched in a soft, faint glow. The quilted sheets, the small looking glass on the nightstand, his sleeping face, devoid of tension. And above the headboard…

Astonished, I stopped, but this was the moment when one of the floorboards ignored my light-footedness and creaked ominously beneath my bare toes. When not plagued by nightmares, Cullen was a light sleeper. He woke even from this faint sound, his eyes flying open. Jolting upright with a stunning speed, his right hand reached for the sword propped against the nightstand. The blade was halfway out of its scabbard before I had the presence of mind to speak.

“It’s me. Just me.”, I soothed quickly. As soon as understanding reached him, he simply let go of the hilt, going so perfectly still that he might as well have turned to marble. The sword clattered to the ground, scabbard and all, while Cullen’s face turned blank. I think he thought if he moved, he would somehow dispel my presence inside his bedroom.

When he truly did not speak but kept staring into the darkness where I stood, I inhaled all my courage and stepped into the shaft of moonlight. His eyes flickered over me from head to toe and up again, his gaze snagging for several seconds on my legs, hips, breasts. Nothing else moved on his features, but his throat rippled with a swallow. 

“You… might be wondering why I’m intruding like this.”, I said as I took another step, my voice surprisingly steady. I had almost arrived at the bed-end now.

“No.”, he astonished me by rasping. I could see a muscle twitch above his chiselled jawline. “There is a very simple explanation. I’m dreaming.”

“You had a dream like this?”, I couldn’t keep from asking. He swallowed again, eyes tracing the low neckline of my gown, then dropping much lower. His mesmerized attention was like a caress of its own, making my stomach flip with a giddy eagerness. There was fire in his eyes, and his body hummed with barely leashed control. Yet, he stayed motionless, watching me.

“I had a thousand dreams like this.” He sounded rueful then, and ashamed. “But in none of them were you ever this beautiful.” Somehow, those words made everything easy. Or if not easy, then natural. Another step, to the side of the bed. He followed my every movement with such rapt fascination, as though I was unravelling the mysteries of the universe to him, not merely walking closer.

“You are not dreaming, my love. I really am here. Would you like to know why?”, I breathed, lifting my hands to the row of pearly buttons at the front of my nightgown. Cullen’s gaze snapped to the same place immediately. I saw the pulse leap at his throat, even in the twilight. The wide vault of his chest was heaving with each breath.

“Yes. Please.”, he answered, his voice barely audible.

My fingers only trembled a little as I undid the buttons one by one. Cullen followed each individual movement as if there were unbreakable threads connecting his eyes to the buttons. I grew more confident and more excited.

“Because you are an honourable man. You would never ask me to come to you like this. You would never ask me to come to your bed. You give me the most wonderful pleasure, but ask for none in return. So… what choice does a woman have? I had to come to you instead. I don’t know much about seduction…”, I trailed away, having reached the last button. The folds of my nightgown gaped open, and he was staring at the tiny visible patch of dark hair at the apex of my thighs, like a man hypnotized. I hadn’t worn anything beneath.

“I don’t know much about seduction…”, I repeated. “But I hope… that this works in my favour.” With a tug, I pulled the fabric off my shoulders, letting it cascade down to my feet in a heap. The thin cloth went with a soft whisper.

And then I stood before him, completely in the nude, as the Maker and nature had made me. He might have seen parts of me – including a very close look at my most intimate place – but not the whole picture. Not until now. The effect was instantaneous. Cullen sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, before his lungs emptied of all air in a rush.

“Sweet Maker above –“, he swore shakily, while his eyes seemed at complete odds with his mind about which part of me to focus on first. I let him look his fill for a prolonged moment, feeling a blush sweep over my entire body, spreading to places I hadn’t even known capable of blushing.

The nightly air cooled my heated skin, but it was his gaze that made the tips of my breasts pucker. My thighs clenched compulsively to alleviate the hollow, empty sensation between them. I didn’t hold out long beneath the searing intensity of his regard, though. And he had yet to make a move. He looked struck dumb, stunned out of his wits. I stepped forward, lifting the blanket away from him.

Anxiety was a faraway island somewhere behind me. I was all courage now, bolstered by the growing need, the sinful fire that burned between us. I climbed over him, settling my legs on either side of his hips. Bracing my hands on the mattress, I hovered above, still not quite touching. He wasn’t breathing well anymore, chest working to draw air of which there was too little between us. I looked at his face, every little detail of it, recognizing the man I loved in all of them. I sought his beautiful eyes, the matchless passion for life that shone so brightly in them.

“I hope this worked, because… I need you to make love to me now.”, I said, my voice more breath than sound. “You can’t deny me, you just can’t… I want it so much. I want you.”

To emphasize this, I straddled him fully, pressing the soft mound of my female flesh down against his steel-hard length. A hiss of gratification escaped me when I felt it dig into my centre, the delicious pressure taking away some of the acute craving. Only a thin piece of linen separated me from him. Cullen let out a long, drawn-out moan, his head sinking back into the pillows.

“And you want me. We come to a full cycle, as it should be. You know it’s true, my love. You know what is written on your skin. Deep down.”, I whispered, nuzzling my face to his. He shuddered beneath me, his hands coming to my thighs, skimming up to my hips.

“_’I am yours_.’”, he said, the voice resonating deep in his chest. I kissed the line of his jaw, loving the rough texture of bristles and skin together. It made my lips prickle delightfully.

“Aye, I am yours. Seal that promise. Make me yours.”

“I –“, Cullen began unevenly, then interrupted himself with a pained sound. “Maker, you’ll kill me. I – I’ll hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

I didn’t answer at once, instead investigated the curve of his strong throat, hunting for his heady male scent. His hands tightened around my waist.

“I don’t care about a little pain. Please… I wanted this since the night before Adamant. Since I woke you from your nightmare. Do you remember what you said? You said I would feel _so good_. Come inside me. Make this ache stop. Only you can.” 

My husky words seemed to erode the last remnants of reluctance he still held. His arms caught me, bringing me flush against the solid planes of his body. Chest to chest, my breasts flattening against the unyielding muscles. Finally, skin on skin. I gasped when my hardened nipples rubbed over a dusting of coarse hair. He captured my mouth in a hungry, unbridled kiss I felt right down into my toes.

The thick ridge wedged to my cleft pulsed as though it had a life of its own, and his hips lifted in instinctive little movements to grind against me. His hands travelled the length of my spine, explored my shoulder-blades, tickled over the sensitive skin at my lower back. The light touch of his calloused fingers made my body shiver in response. Closer. I needed to be closer.

“So soft… everywhere.”, he whispered between kisses, sounding awe-struck. Suddenly I was grabbed and unseated from my throne, flipped over so lay flat on my back. After a moment of shifting movements, his firm, lean frame settled above me. I stopped breathing, wanting to experience it in full.

He was right. I was soft where he was hard. I had always known his contained strength, but now I felt it in a stunning new way, with no barriers of clothing left. Completely undiluted. He could have crushed me with so little effort, but as in Jader, he held himself suspended above me, braced on his arms.

Still, he was so impossibly tangible, everywhere around me. I felt the brush of his sex against my inner thigh, heavy and engorged, searing. No linen in between. No nothing. The sudden realization of what we were about to do caught me unaware. My breath mounted to rapid pants while my mind was cagily trying to solve the equation how that much of him would fit into –

“No… Don’t be afraid. Maker… Don’t look at me with fear…”, Cullen whispered, his hand smoothing down the trembling length of my body in soothing, gentle caresses. Palming my breasts until they were heavy and aching, then gliding along my belly and into the cushiony thatch between my legs.

“I promise, I’ll be so gentle… How lovely you are… Open for me, my love.” My thighs fell open as he spoke, his words frayed and roughened by desire. I made a cradle for his hips, but he didn’t sink into it yet. Instead, his fingers searched through the curls of my intimate flesh, moved in torturous circles around my narrow entrance. Spreading the wet sign of my arousal. It seemed to excite him unbearably, the reaction of my body to his touch, because his long lashes swept down over his eyes and he groaned as though in agony.

“Soft here too…”, I heard him say as his lips caught the sensitive lobe of my ear. He had found this weak spot the last time, and now exploited it shamelessly. I mewled into the crook of his neck.

“And so wet… I want to taste you again, but… I don’t think I can wait.” Without warning, one finger entered me, then another, stretching my untried inner folds. The opening of my body felt sore, despite the abundant moisture easing his way. It twinged and burned, but I didn’t pay it any heed. My hips bucked compulsively in demand.

“Cullen, please!”, I begged for him to stop the teasing, the excruciating tension.

“Does it feel empty here, sweetheart? Is this where you ache for me?” His words slid over the damp skin of my throat together with his heated breath. “Is this the place you want me to fill? Do you want to feel me here, deep inside?”

How did he become this creature of iniquity and forbidden whispers when he gave in to his desire? It stood in such contrast to the courteous, stoic side he showed to the rest of the world. By now, I knew that he liked talking in bed. Liked speaking indecent secrets to me and gloried in my helpless responses. There was something incredibly illicit about it, as though he was a man who confessed his darkest sins and granted himself absolution through my answering need.

“Yes, yes – there. R-right there.”, I faltered, a whimper cutting me short.

“Yes? Not ‘aye’?”, he wondered, his fingers still moving in a languid rhythm inside me, making me undulate along with them.

“What? I – I can’t think when you… I don’t even know what to –“

“Just touch me, sweetheart… Put your hands on me. Hold me close.”, he rasped before claiming my mouth again.

I did. I reached for him as a famished person would reach for vital sustenance, stroking my palms over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the solid expanse of his chest. An all-encompassing shudder went through him, his deep groan pouring into my lungs.

I tried to learn all the individual, steel fibres that made up his body. Finding scars here and there, reminders of the battles he had survived. A burn mark, almost at the base of his spine, the scar tissue uneven, spidery. Touched by fire, a mage’s spell. A long-healed stab wound just beneath his ribcage. Dagger – barely missing his lungs.

I let my hands feel each and every one, my heart bleeding with an echo of those pains. I wanted to kiss all the old hurts away, make him forget the demons of the past, make him live only in the present, with me.

His thighs were sprinkled with rough hair, tickling my legs as I rubbed them against his. I explored each taut ridge on his abdomen, the skin there so smooth and satiny. There was a trail of dark golden curls meandering downward from his navel. Fascinated, I traced it, lower and lower, to the springy nest from where his rigid erection jutted out, proud and at full height. When I moved to touch it, Cullen hissed between his teeth, jerking away.

“No – not… not there. Not just now.”, he ground out unevenly. “I’m barely holding on as it is. Every time you so much as smiled at me, pursed your lips, or… or bit them… you undid me. I wanted to feel you so badly it hurt. If you… touch me there, I’ll lose the last shred of my control.” His words made something constrict low in my belly. A throbbing heat, a tight, tight tension. I whined pathetically when he suddenly retreated, leaving me bereft.

I wanted to answer him with my own confession, tell him that I had felt exactly the same, had touched myself in desperate lust, imagining his hands on me. But the words seemed to be trapped inside my throat together with my breath, and the next I knew, he blanketed me with his body, the length of his arousal gliding along my cleft.

I wrapped myself around him like ivy winding around a solid column. He coated himself with the wetness I had made for him, parted the slick folds. I felt the head of his shaft at my entrance, hot, hard, velvety. Drenched. Now. _Now now now_.

He broke our kiss to issue a sound so male, it must have originated from a time before humans had become civilized creatures. A time of bodies uniting beneath nothing but the moon and the stars and the eyes of a still benevolent god, perhaps. The pendant I had given him lay in the valley of my breasts, cool against my pounding heart.

Cullen seemed to hover at some unnamed precipice, beyond words. As weeks before, I splayed my hand to the centre of his chest, spreading my fingers and flattening my palm to his breastbone. The heartbeat beneath was untamed, determined to thrash its way into freedom.

His eyes were staring down into my face, searching, almost with a hint of disbelief. Asking permission. Asking if he was truly allowed to cross this line. I held his intense gaze unflinchingly, and instinct told me what he needed to hear.

“I chose it. To be yours. Only yours. No regrets.”, I whispered, my words rising between us like a benediction.

“No regrets.”, he acknowledged the promise. It seemed to break his trance, and before I knew it, his hips gave a jerky push. He nudged inside me, forging his way into the tightness of my maiden channel. It didn’t stop. One thrust, and then another, the searing brand of his flesh stretching mine more with each movement.

He tried to be gentle. Maker, how he tried. I felt it in the violent quiver of his body, the shaking arms which cradled me, sheltered me. I saw it on his face, features taut with tension, jaw hardened to stone, eyes tightly shut. But I still couldn’t hold back the sound of distress when he breached some kind of barrier inside me. The hurtful intrusion sliced through me from the raw place where we were joined, where he filled and stretched and opened me.

I writhed to alleviate the pressure, the burn, the utterly foreign sensation of him inside me. Of being unequivocally claimed. Too much. Too big. Too absolute. Oh Maker, it _hurt_. But every tiniest movement seemed to draw him deeper. Until his hips met my oversensitive centre and I sheathed every last inch of him within me.

He uttered curses I had never thought his mouth capable of speaking. Blasphemies. Filthy declarations. I went forcibly still, commanding my muscles to stop stiffening, stop locking tight because it would only make things worse. Cullen looked in pain too, his features contorted into a mask of exquisite agony. His lashes shivered on his cheeks, lungs working like bellows.

“Maker have mercy… Too tight –“ His voice was ragged, desperate.

Holding himself motionless above me, his head dipped down, and his lips showered me with kisses. Apologies he wanted to speak, but couldn’t just now. Sweet, sweet adoration, washing over me. I relaxed, my body unclenching, my swollen flesh slowly yielding to the invasion. I gave way to him, because I wanted to. I wanted to welcome him into my body. I was his, after all.

“It’s alright… it’s alright, my love.”, I crooned, trying to smooth the taut tension away from his face, wipe the furrows from his brow. My touch seemed to anchor him, and he dropped his forehead into the hollow of my throat, inhaling the scent of my damp skin. It didn’t strike me as odd that I tried to soothe him even as I was the wounded party. I just didn’t want him to worry, not right now, not when we did _this_.

“I’ll make it better… It only hurts this first time… Forgive me.”, he whispered shakily. But the pain was already fading, retreating until it was a dull soreness. And in its wake, the desire returned, rekindling its flame inside me. I tested the feel of his hard shaft with a cautious tilt of my hips, pressing my thighs against his flanks. His cock jerked within me, swelling larger for an instant. Thrills chased down my spine.

“Don’t – don’t move.”, he gasped. “We need to wait until –“

“No. No more waiting. It’s better now. I can feel the restraint you hold on to.”, I said softly, winding my limbs around him, pulling him further above me. I needed the weight. I needed the pressure. “Staying still is sheer torment for you. Let go, Cullen.”

The sound of his name on my lips undid his forced stillness. He began to move, slowly at first. Like gentle waves washing over the shoreline. Retreating from me and then surging back inside. He grasped the curve of my backside, pulling me against him with every downward thrust of his shaft. Each time he buried himself to the hilt, he seemed to slide deeper into me, until it felt as though he was everywhere, filled out everything. There was no room for anything but him. The world might have fallen apart around me, raining meteors from the skies.

My toes curled from the thrum of molten heat in my veins, my nails digging into the powerful tendons at his neck. His pace was sure, a sustained assault, driven by utter determination. That excruciating friction. That velvet hardness plunging again and again.

I tossed my head restlessly, the moans soon flying without shame from my throat. I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, tasted the saltiness of skin, the flavour of our carnal dance. I relished it, lapped at it for more. My unbound passion spurred him on, making a deep rumble rise from his chest.

“You – you feel so good. I wanted this… for so long. I… I won’t last.”, he groaned, his breath fractured.

I was exhilarated by his pleasure, by the acceleration in his thrusts and the now constant tremble in his strong body. It was like being drunk, drugged, feeling as though I could tear the earth out of its hinges. Intoxicated by the rush of female power, that I could make a man such as this lose himself in the throes of passion, lose himself in me. No more control. No more holding back.

I felt my muscles clench around him greedily, my body straining to meet his every plummet, to hold him and never let go. His movements turned erratic, desperate, mere instinct now. I felt it build inside him, the culmination. Like an unstoppable force, it chased him down. He tried to get ahead of the rolling upsurge, tried to outrun the storm.

“Let go. Let go.”, I chanted over and over. I wondered fleetingly why the air around us hadn’t caught fire yet, because I was sure that anything so loaded with pure sex must at some point combust. I could smell the unique fragrance of our mingled arousal, the burning furnace of his body, folded around mine like a second skin.

“No. I need… to feel you come around me.” His fragmented words came in rhythm with his broken lunges. Nothing cautious or restrained about him now. His eyes were twin suns blazing with the need to bring me to fulfilment, and then find his own.

Where did he end, and I begin? Was it my own body I felt with or his? Was I breathing the air from his lungs, or mine? There were no more boundaries. No more walls. Just closeness. Touch. Sensation.

It was ridiculously easy to grant his plea. I’d been edging for a while, skirting the line separating me from bliss like a tight-rope walker. Now I let his next deep surge fill me, and then I flew. This peak of ecstasy was different from the first. I had no words to describe it. It wasn’t less intense, still incandescent and utterly stunning, but it didn’t snatch away _all_ of my sanity.

I had a shred of awareness left, even as my senses went into a wild tumble. My lips parted on a sob, spine lifting and twisting with the tide of release. Muscles going rigid, clamping down on the searing rod enveloped fully by my slick channel. A series of frantic spasms, squeezing and tightening –

“Oh, _god_.”, I heard his strangled grasp. His breath stuttered and then died entirely. He threw back his head, exposing his rippling throat. Even in my haze of rapture, I saw the tendons of his neck go taut like steel cords as he let out a shout too animalistic to be human. It was primitive, guttural.

I had never heard anything so sensual, so intrinsically erotic. And never seen him look so magnificent, teeth clenched in an expression of acute, almost painful lust, lashes trembling on his cheeks. The scar on his upper lip contrasted in white against his flushed skin. The raging passion in him, freed at last. Stripped of all chains, released from all bonds.

His shaft jerked violently inside me and I felt a hot surge as he spent himself deep within my body. I clutched him to me as he rode out his climax, hips bucking in shallow, uncontrolled bursts. His whole powerful frame kept shaking like that of a man wrecked by fits.

I wondered fleetingly how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. From the way he grasped my hair by the handfuls, and the fingers digging into my backside as though they couldn’t hold on tightly enough – it must have been a while.

After a time I cannot measure by any means, Cullen’s breath returned to a regular rhythm. The wild thundering of his heart against mine calmed. His body went lax, muscles letting go of all tension. A sigh left his lips, fanning out over my collarbone, drawing a small shiver from me. He shifted a little, letting his head rest in the valley between my breasts.

I threaded my fingers through the damp hair at his nape. It was a lazy, sedate caress, a thing that belonged into the peace settling in after our passionate lovemaking. We were still joined, but he was softening within me now. I felt the cool night air whispering over my skin, but his closeness kept the true chill from intruding. Tangled around each other, we lay beneath a crumbled roof with the moon peeking through the splintered beams, and a shred of clear, star-strewn sky gazing down on us.

There was no need for words, just now. This was stillness defined. We rested within the other’s presence, listening to our attuned breaths. Nothing inside me longed, reached, or struggled. Everything was silent. We sailed calm waters now, cloudless horizons. I sensed no distress in Cullen’s aura, no worry or doubt. I let the moment unspool around us for another small eternity before I spoke quietly into the silence.

“Happy birthday.”

His soft laughter reverberated within my chest, and love welled from my heart like a riptide.

“This is why you left so early this evening…”, he murmured, lifting his head to gaze down at me. Shifting sideways, he relieved me of his weight, but we stayed in our tender embrace. He propped his head into one hand. “You were preparing your seduction.”

I surveyed him from half-lowered lashes. “I was. I think… it worked out alright, aye?” He laughed again, this time with a wry edge.

“You are not seriously asking. When you pulled off that gown, I forgot my name for a moment.”

I wiggled in his arms. “You’re making fun of me!”, I accused him, but was suddenly distracted by the sticky moisture between my thighs. I felt a stinging, dull burn there, too. Colour flushed my face and I winced, which Cullen noticed at once.

“You’re sore… Wait here.”, he instructed with a frown, before he flung himself out of the bed. I was treated to a full view of his naked body from behind, which mesmerized me so much that I didn’t even protest. Those planes of muscle and sinew, bunching at his shoulders, running in defined ridges down both sides of his spine; the wide ribcage, tapering seamlessly to his lean hips. And that ass… Damn. I admit it openly. I didn’t register what he did over there, because I stared shamelessly at his perfect backside.

Cullen returned a moment later with a damp cloth, and I tried hard not to stare at his front this time. This was stupid – I shouldn’t be blushing, I’d lived among men all my life. One was bound to catch glimpses of certain parts. Besides, that particular part of him had been inside me just minutes ago… I still went pink at the sight.

“I always wondered… You do blush with your whole body.”, he said, the smile evident in his words. He sat down and leaned over me carefully, pressing the cloth to the smarting flesh at my centre. I flinched momentarily, but the coolness of the water eased the burn.

“I could have done that…”, I said in a small voice, feeling strangely vulnerable when he handled such an intimate task so nonchalantly.

“I know… But I want to take care of you.”, Cullen simply said, making me subside beneath his ministrations. When he was done, he discarded the cloth, after scowling very severely at it for an instant. I knew there would be blood, although that information had definitely not come from any kind of sailor. Those were not in the habit of sleeping with virgins. I’d heard two kitchen maids whispering about it once.

Cullen climbed in beside me again, his weight depressing the mattress. I huddled close to him as he pulled the blanket up to cover my naked shoulders.

“I will never understand why the Maker made it so that women have to experience pain during their first intimate act, while it is nothing but sweetest pleasure for us men.”, he mused, kissing my forehead gently.

“You’ll have to visit the healer tomorrow, to avoid… Unless… But it wouldn’t be –”

“I know. I already took care of it..”, I soothed him languidly, nestling into the bend of his arm. I had done my research on that topic. “You worry too much, my love.”

Cullen fell silent. I had the feeling that he wanted to ask me something, but couldn’t muster the courage, or perhaps find the right words. Curious.

“You had this all planned out, like a siege operation. Or perhaps a clever heist. Have you ever thought about a change in career?”, he murmured eventually, sounding amused. I closed my eyes just for the relaxing sensation of giving them some rest.

“No-o.”, I replied with a yawn elongating the syllable. “If it had been a heist, I would have been made. Ryker caught me halfway across the ramparts.” Cullen’s chest shook with contained laughter, and I grumbled at being half-dislodged from my nest.

“Indeed? What did you say to him?” His hand delved into the unbound mane of my hair. He began playing with the tresses as though they were endlessly spellbinding.

“I told him that there was no need to report me, because you would already know what there was to report tomorrow.”

“Crafty sorceress…”, he remarked archly. For an extended moment, the only sound I heard was his steady breathing. I almost thought he might have fallen asleep –

“I love you.” My eyes flew open at the words. “You know that, right?”

I stared at him, the sincerity of his admission laid bare on his face. It was a timeless thing, a luminous star, his love. My lips parted, but he gently silenced me by laying his thumb against my mouth.

“I have not been with anyone since before Kinloch. Not like this. You saw what happened there to me. I didn’t allow my heart to get involved after that. It was… I couldn’t bear the closeness. How could I expect to take care of another person, when I was barely holding myself together as I was?” I listened closely to what he said, because this was very important to him.

“I came a long way since then. Yet… Loneliness is a strange thing. Like a bad leg. You get used to it over time… but you always drag it behind you. You start thinking the encumberment is something that belongs to you. That was me, when we met. Used to the weight of my loneliness. You lifted it. Chipped away at it. Day by day, ounce by ounce, you washed it away.”

His fingers feathered over my temple, along my cheeks. “Because you are water. And with enough time, water can wear down anything, anything at all. It moves in your eyes, that inner strength. That quiet endurance. And now… You are mine to protect. Mine to hold dear. Mine to love.”

My arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him to me. “I am. I am. I love you.”

I stretched blindly for his lips. He kissed me so deeply I felt it within the wellspring of my heart, in every corner of my singing qai. I only realized that I was crying when he wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, brushed away the stray drops caught in my lashes.

At the same time, I was smiling like an idiot. Cullen didn’t seem to mind my erratic behaviour. When I had regained my composure, he gathered me close, continuing his compulsive twirling game with my hair.

“Sleep, sweetheart.”

“Alright.”, I conceded, knowing that I was finally, truly, entirely home. 


	28. XXVIII. Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to you all!  
Thank you so much for your wonderful comments after the last chapter, they gave me a huge boost of confidence!! <3 <3   
So, here's some more sex and fluff and romance for you! This time from the other POV :D NSFW!   
Enjoy it - from here on out, we'll be going into the last third of the story. I still have some surprises left! 
> 
> Memories like voices that call in the wind,  
Medhel an gwyns,  
Medhel an gwyns.  
Whispered and tossed on the tide coming in,  
Medhel, oh, medhel an gwyns.  
([Medhel an Gwyns (Soft is the Wind) - Anne Dudley](https://open.spotify.com/track/12kFkoSRUEsKgNtgVOojsD?si=zA3zpvx6RdO22YnX6uMg1A))

### XXVIII. Waking

The Vanguard

* * *

Nothing quite compares to the feeling of waking up in the morning with a beautiful, naked woman wrapped around you. Her soft breaths stroking over my chest, limbs thoroughly entangled with mine, one leg thrown possessively across my thigh. A small, cold foot pushed beneath my calf as though seeking the warmth. Raven hair, spilling out around us like a dark waterfall, smoother than ring velvet. Her hand rested gently on my breastbone, above my heart.

The first light of dawn illuminated the features of her sleeping face. She was a work of art, every delicate detail of her sculped lovingly by a master. And yet… there were those small imperfections no artist could ever have conceived of adding to a masterpiece. The littlest scar interrupting one of her winged brows, like a small white quotation mark. I had never noticed it before. A tiny speck of dust caught in her dense black lashes, or perhaps some fluff from the pillows. The fine sprinkling of freckles branched out farther to one cheek than the other. Small flaws. I studied them like my favourite maps. No, nothing quite compared to this.

I let my fingers skim lightly over her bare shoulder, turned my face into the fragrant strands of her hair, breathing in her scent. Maker, that alone made my loins pull tight with that exquisite tension again. I still struggled with wrapping my mind around the fact that Selkie had come to my bedroom and had literally stripped naked in front of my eyes. Is there anything more thrilling than knowing that a woman desires you? I had told her that I loved her, and I would never regret it. Because the joy in her eyes had absolved me of every stupid mistake I had ever made.

Memories of last night flashed before my eyes, of her hips cradling me as her body welcomed me inside, how she had clung to me like a drowning person to the last piece of driftwood. What it had felt like to have her come apart around me.

I shivered, my cock twitching and growing hard just from thinking about it. Great, now I had a full-blown erection. As I’d had every single morning since I had first touched this woman. Last night, I had experienced the longest, most gut-wrenching orgasm of my life. And still, only hours later, I wanted her again.

No, I commanded my body to curb the urge. Too soon. Selkie had been a maiden. She was still painfully new to all of this. But when I remembered her unbridled passion, her bold, sinful words, the cries of ecstasy I had drunk from her mouth… I had a feeling that she would be a quick study. 

Sounds filtered in through the half-ruined roof from the courtyard, a familiar symphony of the keep awaking to another busy day. Guards calling out to each other, horses whinnying as they were led from their stalls to be saddled, the distinct scrapes of a whetstone being dragged over a blade, muffled murmurs mingling to an indistinct buzz. Once the sun rose, there was no true silence anywhere in Skyhold.

Selkie stirred at my side, her lids fluttering as her brows drew into a small frown, lips parting on a sigh. Her limbs twitched as she slowly came awake, stretching sleepily. She arched in a way that brought her flush against me, those delectable breasts pressing to my chest, the downy softness between her legs rubbing against my hip. I tried not to make a sound, but still an inadvertent gasp rose in my throat. Her eyes opened, and for a moment she looked dazed, unknowing.

And utterly adorable, her wild locks a glorious mess framing her drowsy features as she blinked rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep. I could see the dark ring framing the crystalline blue of her eyes. Which went wide as she took in her circumstances – mainly both of us being naked in bed together, I assumed. Her hand flew to her mouth, and I swear I almost heard her mind whirring to process all that had happened last night.

“Oh – Cullen.”, Selkie said nonsensically, sounding so incredulous I had to suppress a laugh.

“Were you expecting someone else to be here when you woke up?” I shifted to let my lips brush over her cheek, then the tips of her elegant fingers. She dropped her hand back to my chest, allowing me to kiss her in earnest. I loved that plush mouth, those coral pink lips opening for me as though she couldn’t resist.

“Of course not.”, she whispered when I mustered the willpower to pull away. “You were talking in your sleep during the night.”

Suddenly apprehensive, I froze, unable to find a memory of a nightmare. It appeared that I still had them, or remnants at least. Until now, nobody had witnessed what the horrors I saw made me do or say in my sleep. Nobody had kept me company at night.

Shame seeped into me. Had I cried like an infant? Had I begged for death? Had I screamed in bloodthirsty rage? I wasn’t brave enough to ask her. And it seemed that Selkie did not dwell on it anyway.

“I held you. Hummed our song. It calmed you.”

Her fingers caressed their way up my neck, over my jaw and cheek, like butterfly wings.

“Our song?”, I wondered, my voice a shade grittier than usual. Selkie’s lips summoned that irresistible dimpled smile.

“Soft is the Wind.”

“Sing it.”, I bade, which seemed to baffle her.

“Now?”

“Now. Please.”

She gave a small sigh, but then… she did sing. Her resonant, breathy alto unfolded into the air around us. It pulled something tight inside my gut, every time I heard that rich, female voice. I could not say why, but it suited her perfectly. A little mysterious, alluring, but brimming with warmth.

Closing my eyes in enjoyment, I felt her shift beside me as she sang, her naked thigh sliding over my hip until she had rolled atop me. Springy curls and soft flesh pressing down on my hard cock. The tips of her breasts grazing my chest. Her black tresses tumbled around me like a midnight curtain.

I groaned in both shock and enjoyment at her sudden boldness. The melody of her song trailed off into a husky whisper, and when it ended altogether, the tip of her tongue darted out to tease my lower lip. Instinctively, I stretched to catch her mouth for a kiss, but she evaded me.

“I never chided you, you know.” Her words held an impish undertone. “For stealing my holly crown.”

My eyes darted to the dried wreath hanging above the headboard, perfectly preserved. I’d asked Dagna to enchant it, make it last forever. It had taken a great amount of persuasion to extricate a vow of silence from her on the matter.

“Now I see that you kept it. As a trophy.”, Selkie crooned seductively. “I wonder…”

She reached above us, casually lifting the holly crown from its place, placing it upon her head. And sweet Maker, then she straightened, giving me a full view of her in all her naked glory. The sight made my heart stutter and my shaft lurch compulsively.

Enthroned above me, she was a forest nymph, clothed in nothing but the leaves and berries crowning her brow. Her breasts, abundant and full, their pink buds so deliciously perky that my hands itched from the need to touch them. Taste them. Lick them until she whimpered. Her skin glowed in the light of the rising sun, petal-smooth, pearlescent. The tattoos on her arms, coiling and winding like an exotic mural across the canvas of her body.

And the dark whorl of hair at the juncture of her legs, hiding the secret place where she had taken all of me. What was it about this woman that made my mind write poetry for her? But Maker, was she breath-taking. I could do nothing but stare, suspended in awe. 

Selkie smiled down at me, and that naughty dimple on her cheek did things to my unruly manhood. Her gaze jumped to my groin, and I almost moaned when I saw her lips part on an amazed breath, forming a perfect circle. I let her look her fill, keeping still beneath her fascinated regard. I was rock-hard already, and she hadn’t even touched me yet.

“I wonder…”, she repeated, licking her lips with likely no idea that such a gesture drove me wild. It would be so easy, so so easy, to shift a few inches, to align her just so, and then thrust home right into her tight, tight heat. Or perhaps she knew exactly what she did to me. There was a gleam in her eyes, something possessive, audacious.

“How did you make yourself stop, every time? Satinalia… Adamant… Jader…” The mention of those incidents brought back vivid memories of the times I’d been at the brink of losing it, of throwing all caution to the wind with her. How had I stopped? For the life of me, it seemed an impossible feat now.

“I – recited… the Chant of – of Transfigurations.”, I managed as her hands began exploring me. She did it with a certain lassitude, taking her time, no hurry. Smoothed her palms over my chest, raked her fingers through the curls there, travelled down my stomach, dipped into my navel. And her body bowed close to me, her lips following in the wake of her hands.

“Recite it to me now, will you? Let’s see if it works.”, Selkie hummed, her warm breath prickling over my skin. Her tongue traced patterns down my pectorals, leaving a searing trail as she shifted lower. Arriving at the path of hair below my navel, she dug her fingers into it, toying, teasing, always avoiding the heavy weight of my shaft throbbing against my abdomen. This side of her was entirely new, and so incredibly erotic for it. She was playing with me. A wicked, sensual game.

“Magic…”, I began, my voice catching on a groan. “…exists to serve man and… never to rule over him.”

“Mmm.”, she acknowledged, tongue swirling around my navel. She’d settled between my legs, perching right above my loins. Her mouth was only inches away from the head of my cock, while her fingers raked over my inner thigh. Up, up, up. Yes. Maker, yes. Just a bit further –

All her movements stopped.

“Go on.”

I groped for the words inside my brain. My thoughts were trapped within a web of need.

“F-foul and corrupt are they… who have taken his – gift. And – Aahh.” Speech deserted me, because yes, finally, her hand wrapped around my shaft. I was so aroused, she had to gently pull it away from my stomach. I looked down at the picture she painted – grasping me, lips damp and pursed, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. She squeezed once, hard. A bead of pearly moisture welled from the tip.

Void take it, the way she teased me was all kinds of filthy. Blasphemous, even. And impossibly, I grew harder. Selkie threw me a questioning glance from beneath lowered lashes, waiting. But all I could think about was fisting her hair in my hand and pushing my cock into the sheer velvet bliss of her mouth.

“I – can’t remember the rest. Maker, I can’t remember anything.”, I said in a voice I didn’t recognize as my own.

“Good.”, she said softly. I lost all coherent thought when her lips just barely brushed the engorged tip. And then she gave it one long, experimental lick, from the sensitive underside to the smooth, velvet crown. Lapped at the moisture weeping from the slit. With relish.

“Oh, sweet mercy of –“

My breath caught in my throat when I felt her mouth take me inside, wet and silky and hot, her tongue slipping and sliding over the tip, fingers rubbing the base in a slow, languid rhythm. I was lost. In pieces. She tried to fit as much of my length into her mouth as she could, suckling and licking all the way and ah, Maker, it was all I could do not to jump off the mattress.

What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. Lingering when I moaned or cursed. Testing slower paces and then a quicker one that had me gasping for air like an untried lad. My hips bucked on their own, thrusting along with each wet, spine-tingling slide.

“Yes, love. Ahh, Maker, _yes_ – Just like that.”, I whispered shakily, rapture thundering through my veins, down my back. I praised her. With wanton words, with deep growls torn from my chest when I felt the vibration of her satisfied moans. She liked this. She _loved _it. Her mouth wrapped around my cock hungrily, as if she gloried in the taste, as if she would suck it all day if I let her.

My fingers flew to the back of her head, gripping a handful of locks. This was the most dirty thing I could have imagined, until I saw that she was touching herself with her free hand. Kneading her bouncing, perfect breasts. I felt my orgasm build, fulminate, rise like a tide, that razor-sharp edge between acute ecstasy and near-pain.

“Enough. Selkie – Oh god, you’ll kill me. I’ll spill too soon – Please –“

Was that me, pleading for mercy? When she released me, my first thought was to yell in frustration. But then she was crawling up my body like a sun-kissed goddess, her movement sinuous, confident. With a feline grace, she straddled me again.

The next I knew, she grasped my length and guided me between her legs. She was so wet, her curls glistened. I would never know how a shred of my wits returned to me at the exact moment I felt her drenched slit connect to the head of my shaft.

“No – you’re still sore. We shouldn’t –“, I broke off when she lowered herself onto me. In one endless, excruciating glide. I forgot how to breathe. I forgot everything, except that I was home. Inside her. Slick, hot. Sheathed completely by her tight inner walls.

“_Fuck_.”

I’d prided myself of never being vulgar during sex. I never had the woman of my dreams _sit down_ on my aching cock, either. Taking all of me, fitting around me like a glove one size too small and still so damn right. Her soft, heart-shaped backside came to rest on my thighs when I bottomed out.

It nearly undid me. She hummed deep in her throat, _satisfied_ with herself, watching me with rapt attention. Pupils dilated by desire, eyes almost all black except for the delicate ring of bluest blue around them.

“Oh… That feels so –“, she breathed huskily, splaying her palms on my chest to brace herself. I bucked up, hips lifting off the mattress. I couldn’t help it. It was some animal instinct to thrust, to pound into her until I had imprinted myself on her skin, her body, her soul. Until I left something permanent behind inside her, woven into the very fabric of her being.

“Please tell me this feels good.”, I begged her raggedly, stroking my hands along the creamy white softness of her legs. I clutched her hips, my fingers almost encircling her trim waist.

“You’re so… big.” I didn’t know how I kept myself from coming then and there. My blood roared in my ears, my vision darkening at the edges.

“Move, sweetheart. Sweet Maker, please move or I’ll die.” I was too far gone to care about the stark need in my voice. She rolled her hips once, tentatively, testing her liberties in this position. It made little dots of light dance before my eyes.

“I don’t know how.”, Selkie mewled plaintively. The way her arms squeezed her delectable breasts together had my mouth go dry. Still wearing the holly crown, her raven mane wild and untamed, cascading around her naked shoulders. She looked like an offering to some ancient heathen deity.

“Ride me. Like – like you would ride a horse.” I guided her body into the motion, battling the instinct to thrust mindlessly. She followed, some deep-seated female knowledge taking over.

Up and down. Down and up. Rise and fall. Maddeningly slow at first, as if we had all the time in the world, as if we could spend entire weeks devouring each other. She lifted and settled, soon needing no guidance from me.

I watched her spine bend into a sinuous arch, her chest heave as her breathing mounted to throaty gasps. Neither of us cared about the morning chill seeping in through the crack in the ceiling. We made our own fire.

My head fell back into the pillows, mouth going slack. Maker help me, I wanted to wake up like this every single morning for the rest of my life. Her wet folds gripping me so sweetly, snugly, sleek muscles thrumming as she cradled me between her thighs, _grinding_ down into me. Barely anything registered from our surroundings. There was only her, the soft, lewd sounds of our flesh connecting, the sensation of her skin beneath my fingertips, feverishly hot, flushed.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – decades of experience had sharpened my hearing. Even in my sensual haze, I heard the door below opening. Heard someone enter – no, two people. Selkie and I both froze at once when the voices reached us from my study.

“Oh, he’s not here.”

“Strange. He cannot be still sleeping, he usually rises with the dawn.”

Selkie and I looked at each other, our expressions identically arrested for a moment. People were standing in my office, mere feet from us. What if they decided to check upstairs? Why had I ever started this open-door policy? Because in my wildest fantasies I hadn’t conceived of a morning like this happening for real, that’s why. I must lock my door from now on –

My cagy thoughts came to a sudden, jarring halt when Selkie moved above me. Her legs locked tight around my hips. Without warning, she resumed the rhythm from before. A strangled gasp burst from my throat, and I lost complete track of the conversation below us.

“Selkie – they’ll hear us.”, I whispered brokenly, trying to still her.

But she didn’t obey me. In fact, she wanted anything _but_ to obey me. Her eyes glittered with deviltry, with wicked intent. I was so stunned that I didn’t even protest when she caught my hand and placed it right over the heated mound at her centre. She guided my thumb to the place where I slid deep into her. I felt it, the way her tight furrow stretched to accommodate me. I felt my own hardness plunge into her softest part, as she just kept on relentlessly riding me like we were the last two people on earth.

Damn, I needed to see it. My fingers spread her open, baring the sight to my view. It was compulsive, explicit, downright _obscene_. I was transfixed, watching my cock disappear into her wet slit, again and again. There must be something wrong with me, because suddenly I didn’t care if they found us like this. I didn’t want to stop. Ever. I wanted to roar my claim to the entire keep so there would be no doubt. Mine. Only mine. She noticed my fascination, leaning further over me, widening her stance.

“Send them away.”, came her low purr. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

She revelled in taking control away from me, in using me to chase her own pleasure, in my struggle not to make a sound that would give away what we were doing up in this bed. I didn’t trust myself to form a coherent sentence, not while I was being galloped into fucking oblivion.

“Later!”, I managed to call hoarsely, and thanked the Maker when I heard the door close only an instant later.

“They are gone.”, Selkie gasped, her voice uneven, her pace accelerating.

“Siren.”, I hissed between my teeth. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Driving me crazy. Making me lose control.”

She whimpered, back bowed and bent, her whole slender frame shaking. “Aye, aye, please –“

I kept my hand where she had put it, flicking my thumb over the taut bud above her opening. Electric currents raced down my spine, tingling with every upward jut of my hips.

Pressure built, winding tighter and tighter low in my stomach, at the small of my back, shooting to my cock, jerking and pulsing inside her. Her narrow channel constricted around me. I felt her quickening, and the rush of triumph tore a deep, frenzied sound from my chest.

Maker’s breath, that friction. That wanton exhilaration of having her pleasure herself by using my body. When her inner muscles began fluttering around my shaft in abandon, I reared up, claiming her mouth in a ravenous kiss.

I swallowed her cries, seating myself inside her as deeply as I could go. Magic surged within her. It was as if she reached for me with more than her body. For a fleeting moment, I felt her let go, let down all barriers. Sunlight hitting shimmering, floating streaks of water. Falling, falling… Into something blissfully complete.

I couldn’t breathe. My own orgasm slammed into me like a battering-ram. It was visceral. Devastating. My senses blacked out on me entirely. There was only blinding light and the wracking pulses as I spilled my release into her welcoming heat. She clung to me, sucked on my tongue, bit down on it, her body undulating and wringing me dry until I had nothing more to give.

We collapsed back onto the sheets in a heap of tangled limbs, both panting to catch our breaths. Still joined, unwilling to part just yet. Her fingers threaded through mine, entwining. I felt her lips bestow me with languid, soft kisses. My cheeks, my forehead, the corner of my mouth. While all else in me had gone lax, my heart jolted and contracted, overflowing with feeling.

“I love you.”, Selkie whispered. “I’ll lose my voice again soon, so I’ll say it as clearly as I can now: I love every part of you, every side. The wicked and the wild. The strong and the proud. Even the scarred, doubtful part that lives in your nightmares. Because it belongs to you just the same. I’d like to say that I’ll pick up a sword and slay all the demons for you.” She paused, smiling ruefully at me for an instant.

“But we both know I’m terrible with swords.”

“Not terrible. Never that. You’ll get there, love.”, I breathed, running my knuckles along the soft curve of her cheek. Her smile turned indulgent.

“Maybe so.”, she mused. Her fingers released mine to trace the ink on my arm, lightly, so lightly. “But remember, Cullen… when you go into the darkness, you don’t go alone. Not anymore. Never again. I’m with you. Promise me that you’ll never forget. Yours. Mine. Ours. Whatever comes now… we’ll face it together.”

_Yours. Mine. Ours._ I repeated those three words in my mind. Memorized how they rolled off her tongue, with ease, with confidence. Was this the same woman I had met in that dim tavern room months ago? I wondered. The one who wouldn’t meet my eyes and seemed like she’d never fully trust anyone? But somehow, I knew… her true courage had been inside her all along.

“Yes, sweetheart. I promise.”

Content with my answer, Selkie kissed me again. After a time, she pulled back and cautiously removed the holly crown, rearranging it to its place above the headboard.

“I’ll just be a minute.” She rose from the bed, and I watched the gleaming skin on her legs as she skipped over to the washing stand. She was still completely nude, a fact which drew my gaze to all kinds of beautiful curves and slopes and arcs on the landscape of her. But what caught my attention were the tattoos on her back. I had not seen them in full until now.

They extended from her delicate shoulder-blades down to the base of her graceful spine, perfectly symmetrical patterns. Moving subtly together with the muscles as she weaved water into a towel and did a perfunctory cleaning, like a little ritual. She hummed quietly to herself. At the top of her spine, half-hidden by her dark hair, there was the symbol of Elya and Elwin. It had a nearly hypnotic pull. I can’t explain it.

A shiver went through her slender frame, and I noticed that the air in the room had considerably cooled down during the night. I hadn’t fed the fire. Shifting out of bed, I slipped into a pair of comfortable breeches and picked a fresh shirt from my open clothing chest. I didn’t put it on though, instead stepped behind Selkie and draped the linen around her bare shoulders. The seam reached halfway down her thighs. She startled a little, blinking as she turned her head.

“You’re cold.”, I said, kissing the crown of her head. “I shouldn’t have let the hearth go out. Slip back under the covers. It’ll be warm in no time.”

But instead of doing so, she half-buttoned my shirt and sat down at the edge of the bed, watching me build a fire beneath the mantlepiece. I caught her frowning in concentration, as if the wooden logs were some complicated mathematical problem.

“I never started a fire.”, she said when I placed the tinder and reached for the flintstone. I knew Selkie feared fire. On many occasions, I saw her flinch from a flame when coming too close to it, and I had never seen her feed a hearth or stand close to one for warmth. Cole had once said: She was kissed by flame, and now she fears the flame. She had never spoken about it before, though.

“You don’t like fire.”, I stated. It wasn’t a question.

“N-no.”, she confessed. “It’s been like that since I was little. I don’t know why… I dream, sometimes. Of burning alive…” Her voice was small, ashamed.

“Come here.”, I cajoled gently, extending my hand in a way one would do to coax a frightened animal out of hiding. Trepidation flashed across her features, but she stood tentatively, approaching me with cautious steps. She looked young then, in my too-large shirt, her face scrunched up with anxiety. I took her small hand in mine and pulled her down into my lap where I sat on the stool before the hearth. My leg injury still caused me discomfort from time to time. But her weight was neglectable.

“You doused the stable fire entirely on your own. This is nothing compared to that blaze. Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”, she answered instantaneously, but then her uncertainty came through. “But…”

“I’ll show you first.” She eyed the firesteel and flint in my hands dubiously, but remained where she was. In a practiced motion, I struck the steel with the stone, making a shower of sparks rain down to the floor. Selkie jolted, grabbing on to my shoulder, digging her nails in. But she stayed where she was, studying the process as I repeated it several times. I felt her fear, but also the will to master it.

“Here… you try.” I placed the tools into her hands and guided them into the right position, the same way I taught her how to wield the sabre. “Hold it close to the tinder… And always strike it away from your body. Watch that you hold the flint right – No, like this. Yes, just so.”

Selkie hovered there for a long moment, motionless. Then she took a deep breath and leaned towards the mantlepiece. It seemed to take her considerable willpower not to let the fear overcome her – her body was stiff as a board, but still she struck the firesteel the way I’d shown her. Sparks flew into the hearth, showering the tinder I’d laid. Selkie flinched a little. Nothing happened.

“You have to do it several times sometimes. And swiftly.”

After a few tries, she lost a bit of her fear and her motions became more certain. In the end, some of the sparks caught the charcloth beneath the logs and a tiny flame began to spread across it. Selkie scrutinized it with enough intensity to make the flame wither beneath her gaze. Then a wondrous expression dawned on her face, her eyes going wide and incredulous.

“I made fire.”, she said, her voice holding the excitement of a person who’d just jumped across a dangerous chasm and lived to tell the tale. A deep-seated fear such as this is incredibly difficult to overcome. I had seen soldiers break out in cold sweat and drop their swords at the sight of a fire because they had been burned in their youth. Speaking rationally to them was no use. Fear can rarely be reasoned with. It grips you in its clutches, conquers you.

“You did. And expertly, too. I’m proud of you.” My praise was heartfelt. I didn’t patronize her. For others, this might have been a simple task, ridiculously easy even. For her, it was a feat of valour. An achievement.

Selkie wrapped an arm around my neck, leaning into me as we watched the flame lick along the logs, the warmth chasing away the chill in the air. A time of companionable silence passed where I gently stroked up and down her spine, feeling her relax against my chest. She tucked her face to the hollow of my throat, her dainty nose nuzzling my skin.

There was something so deeply trusting about this simple gesture. I felt… calm. Right where I belonged. My regrets lay silent inside me. Strange… such a strange sensation, this stillness. This pristine eye of the storm.

“I wish we could stay like this.” I said, my voice oddly gruff. Selkie gave a small sigh.

“Me too. You’re so warm. Like you have your own fire.”, she whispered.

“I used to have cold hands all the time, from the lyrium withdrawal.” I flattened my palm to the base of her spine. “You knew. You watched your father go through it.”

Selkie lifted her head, gazing at me for an instant.

“I was nine when he decided to stop. On bad days, his aura was… closed-off, brittle… Cold. It was as if he kept reaching for that thing… that song, straining his senses to hear it again. He tried to hide his pain, but it’s hard to hide anything from a weaver such as Ariu. I learned to recognize the signs and helped Ariu prepare teas, watched him alleviate the pain.” She paused shortly.

“I suspected it on the day you followed me to the ramparts. I knew for sure when I first entered your office. How you baffled me!”, she let out a short, almost sad laugh. “My father had Ariu, and sometimes me. You had nobody to help you through the ordeal. Why is he so stubborn? I thought. So bent on going through this on his own? What is he trying to prove?”

“I didn’t want the lyrium to control my life. I had to break its hold on me… I needed to know that I could do it.”, I replied quietly. “What about you? Do you have any regrets?”

Selkie’s smooth forehead puckered with a frown.

“Of course I do… If I had been stronger… I might have been able to save the Tidedancer. The crew. My fathers.”

“It was not your fault, sweetheart.”, I said, my voice gentle. “Still… You must miss them.” She leaned back against me.

“Every day.”

I didn’t think she would say more on the topic. But eventually, she continued in a wistful tone.

“I remember one thing from when I was still little… We sailed to see the carnival in Antiva City. People dress up in colorful costumes and the streets are filled with performers. At midnight, they release thousands of lanterns into the sapphire bay. I remember watching them float away above the sea, their lights reflected on the water. I remember Ariu lifting me up to sit on Matthias’ shoulders. I remember seeing their hands intertwined. We spent the night at an expensive inn, and I was allowed to sleep between them in the giant bed. It’s one of my happiest childhood memories.”

Selkie fell silent, and although I didn’t see her face, I had the impression that she was fighting tears.

“I’m sorry, my love. It must be painful to remember it now.”, I said, hugging her close to me.

“No…”, she surprised me by saying. “It’s… I don’t know… Bittersweet now. I like to remember those times, even if they do hurt. I don’t want to forget about them. I’ve been running from things all my life. Only when I came to the Inquisition did I stop running. Ariu always said that things happen for a reason. I would like to think that he was right.”

“That thought is almost Andastrian, you know.”

“Oh, because the Maker has a plan for us all? Leave it to you to make this about religion… You couldn’t even recite the Chant of Transfigurations –“

“That’s quite enough from you, little blasphemer.”

Without warning, I grabbed her and threw her over my shoulder. She let out a girlish squeak, wiggling and pounding my back with her fists.

“What are you doing?! Let me down, you scoundrel! Mutiny! Betrayal!” While she was cursing me, I locked an arm around her legs and ran my fingers lightly over the bare soles of her feet. How could she stand at all on these tiny things? She jolted as though struck by lightning.

“No, don’t, please, I’m ticklish! No!” Grinning, I repeated the motion. Selkie gasped for air, trying desperately to dislodge my hold. Well, well. Who knew?

“Cullen! This isn’t funny. I mean it! I’m really – Stop!” After some more teasing and begging, I released her onto the bed. She plopped down on it, glaring up at me with something close to murderous intent in her eyes. It was adorable. I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“Well, I am glad I amuse you so.”, Selkie hissed. She turned to crawl to the opposite side, but I grasped her by the ankle and simply pulled her back. Which led to more shrieks and swear words I had never even heard before. I tried to curb my amusement (and failed). As I drew a very indignant Selkie into my arms, I knew one thing for sure – the days of my forced vacation would certainly not be boring. 


	29. XXIX. A Touch of Portent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and the awesome comments! I hope you had a good start into the new year and are ready for some new developments here as well!  
Without further ado, lets get to it :)) Have fun reading!

### XXIX. A Touch of Portent

The Weaver

* * *

Something was not right. One minute, I had fallen asleep peacefully in Cullen’s arms. And the next, I had woken into a world of pain, into a body that did not belong to me, into a place that was dark and rancid and terrifying. I sprawled on a layer of rotting hay, but it was so pitifully thin that it didn’t shield me from the ice-cold, hard stones beneath it.

Every breath brought the stink of disease, blood and offal into my nose, so intense that I gagged, my empty stomach spasming as though I would retch. But I had nothing to vomit out. There were so many hurts within me, I couldn’t even breathe for a moment, much less concentrate to count them all. Broken bones, healed badly. Old cuts to flesh, burning still from infection. Injuries to vital things inside me, spreading poisonous blood into my veins.

I was dying. I didn’t even understand how I could still be alive, broken as I was. The pain… Nobody could bear so much pain. My eyes were crusted with some gooey substance, but I still forced them to open. Only to realize that I was almost completely blind. A hazy, blurred blotch of light remained in the distance, but otherwise… darkness. Shadows. I heard the steady drip of water above me, drop after drop falling to the cold stone. And then, as I readied myself to scream, to beg, to cry out for help –

“_Be small. In your mind, be small_.” Cole? What was Cole doing here? Shouldn’t he still be in Emprise du Lion with Alec? I felt his presence, hovering close by, watching me. And yet he was impossibly far away. I didn’t understand.

“Hush. Keep still.”, a different voice spoke. A woman’s voice, tired and roughened. Somehow I knew that we were suffering here together. A wooden cup was gently pressed to my cracked lips. The tiny ounce of water washing over my swollen tongue tasted bilgy, but not toxic. After two sips, I shook my head weakly.

“Just a little more. You need to drink. It will keep your strength up.”, the woman spoke softly. She was no more than an indiscernible, blurred shape above me. But I did not need my eyes to perceive her aura. It was as though the loss of my sight had sharpened my ability to see qai, because she unfolded before me in uncountable facets. What a brilliant creature she was.

A pristine rose blooming between twisted thorny vines. From the blighted ground she had risen, against all odds, against all ugliness. But something evil had touched her, a taint darkening her at the edges – held at bay, but inevitably spreading. My hands reached for her, groping helplessly before me. Her fingers caught mine, smooth skin closing around my brittle knuckles. I felt a curious jolt go through me, like a rush of warm water spilling over my skin.

“I’m here. Just hold on. We will get through this. You will see your daughter again.”, she said gently. Before I could react in any way, I was drawn backwards by a relentless force, shifting away from the scenery. With all my might I struggled against the pull, my heart lurching sideways in my chest.

“Ah, sweet girl. I wish it were so.” Ariu’s voice was no more than a whisper. I tried to latch on to his presence, grab it, push into his qai. Whatever drew me back and away from him was much stronger than me.

“Sometimes I sense her… Reaching out to me. And I want so badly... to reach back. But you and I both know that my life-force is nearly spent. I live on borrowed time now. Yet… We will hold on as long as possible. Every day I still live, their attention is drawn away from what I hold dearest.”, my father sighed out. If I’d been able to weep in my bodiless form, I would have. Someone, somewhere in the distance, cried out to me to wake. I felt Cole’s anxiety. I’d been here too long. But I couldn’t go yet.

“You and I share that burden, my friend.”, the woman said, sounding incredibly sad.

“I know… So they still have not found out how you did it?”, Ariu mused, his tone almost mischievous. I couldn’t believe that he was capable of feeling anything but pain in his state. My father’s endurance put me in awe.

“No. I keep them occupied with the mystery, fumbling in the dark. And as long as they have me… They won’t go after him. At least… that is what I hope.”

“And you think he would agree with your decision?”, Ariu wondered pensively. The woman gave a short, dismal laugh.

“Maker, of course not. Would your daughter agree with yours?”

To this day, I don’t know how I did it. It was more instinct than conscious effort, but I flung myself at Ariu with my entire spirit, and every bit of magic I could muster. I suspect that there was a whole lot of anger in that assault, because I understood then why I hadn’t felt my connection to him since the day the Tidedancer had been destroyed. Not because he was dead, as I had thought. But because he had deliberately blocked me out.

“_NO!_”, I yelled out, and it was Ariu’s voice yelling the word. Suddenly, I was with him again, sharing his senses. And we were not alone. The force I had felt, the presence drawing me back –

“What have you done?!”, Ariu wailed in despair. “Why did you bring her here?!”

The woman, whoever she was, flinched back and let go of his hand as my father’s body jerked violently.

“_It was the only way_.”, a foreign voice answered calmly.

“_Come away, come away now, please! You are too deep, too far –_“, Cole insisted urgently.

“Selkie! Wake up! Maker help me, open your eyes, please –“ Cullen? For a moment, his voice distracted me, breaking my focus. I felt my hold on the vision slipping, but I needed to know one thing, one piece of information.

“Dad! _Where_? Where are you?! Tell me! I’ll come for you, I’ll get you out!”, I cried, panicking now.

“No.”, Ariu said firmly. “You can’t. Too dangerous.”

“Don’t ask me to leave you, Dad. I won’t do it.”

Then I changed tactics, addressing the woman. I hoped she would understand what was happening – it must have seemed insane, Ariu arguing with himself like a lunatic. But something told me that she was sharp, this one.

“Please, I don’t know who you are, but I can free you both. I’m not alone. I can get the Inquisition to help.”, I pleaded with her.

“Don’t tell her!”, Ariu interjected harshly.

“But Ariu… With the Inquisition, perhaps…”

“No! It's what they want! Stay away!”

And then my father did something I would never have expected from him. He forcefully broke our spiritual connection to each other. Severed it like snipping a thread. I remember the nights of my childhood when he had sung me to sleep, and had stayed with me in my small cabin. His presence had meant absolute safety.

Only when he cut the tie which held us together did I understand that he had been with me almost all my life. Not just through the tattoos he’d stung, but on some much more fundamental level, a deep bond shared between father and daughter. And then he was gone.

I was so shocked and hurt that I could do nothing but watch as the vision tore apart around me. The next I knew, I woke with a shattering scream back into my own reality. Which proved to be a different version of chaos.

Cullen held my thrashing body in his arms, uncaring that I lashed out at him in my confusion. For some unknown reason, we were both on the floor of my tavern room, and Cole kneeled beside us, looking terrified. Sera stood in the open door, her face twisted into an expression between fear and worry, her teeth bared in a snarl. She had an arrow nocked to her bow, as though ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

“_What? What?_ What threatens us? I’ll kill it! I’ll shoot it dead!”, she kept hissing, casting her gaze around wildly for a target. Strange keening noises echoed through the room, and I wondered if there was an injured animal in here with us.

“It’s alright, shhh, it’s alright.”, Cullen soothed, hugging me to his chest so tightly I could barely breathe. I realized that the sounds were coming from me. And then I burst into tears like a child.

“Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck, Cullen?! Was this Creepy’s Fade brainfuck? Did that thing do this to her?”, Sera cursed over my uncontrolled sobs.

“That wasn’t me. It was the other one. He pulled her over, out, onward. She was very far away, looking through the other’s eyes. But his eyes were blind.”, Cole explained. I curled up into a ball, burrowing against Cullen’s chest. Steadiness. Anchor. My qai was so disturbed, I would have been lost without him.

“Shut up you frigging creepy-ass –“

“Sera.”, Cullen cut across her, authority ringing in his voice. For a wonder, she fell silent. “Go and wake Solas. Bring him here without delay.”

“Right. Fade-stuff bigshot coming up.”, she quipped in a surly undertone, but departed at once to obey the command.

Cullen lifted me off the ground easily, settling me on the edge of the bed. Bereft of his warmth, I started shivering in my thin nightshift. He wrapped a blanket around me an instant later and brought me a cup of water, coaxing me gently to drink. I accepted it, not quite conscious of what I did. The tears had stopped, but I still could not think clearly, and he seemed to sense that too.

“From the beginning, Cole. As plainly as possible.”

Cole rose, giving a curt nod.

“I just returned in the evening, so I was up in the attic when she began dreaming. At first, I didn't listen in... but then I heard him talk to her. ‘Come here. Look here’ he said, and she followed because he was familiar. She went somewhere else in her dream, and it was very far away. I couldn’t see what was at the other end, because he pushed me away. So I only peeked, like through a crack in the door. It was a dark place. Cold and full of pain.”, the words tumbled from him in a rush.

“Who is this other one you are talking about?”, Cullen asked as he sat down beside me.

“He is like me, but… bigger. He knows many things, but he never came to this side before. There was no reason to.”, Cole explained. I drew a deep breath, finding my composure again.

“A spirit.”, I said quietly.

“Maker’s Breath, Selkie… You scared the living daylight out of me. Are you alright now? For a moment, I thought you were – possessed.”, Cullen turned me slightly, studying my face with deeply worried eyes. He had gone chalky pale. I shook my head.

“Not possessed… And not alright, either. I…”, I began, but we were interrupted by Solas striding into the room briskly, his appearance unruffled as ever.

“What happened?”, he demanded without further ado. Behind him, Sera hovered in the doorway looking like she was swallowing back a scathing comment. She and Solas did not get along well.

“You okay now, Mutey? Scared us both shitless, you did, with all the screaming and jerking…”

“I’m sorry”, I told them both sincerely. “This never happened to me before…”

“I thought she was having a nightmare at first.”, Cullen said as Solas ushered a reluctant Sera out and closed the door. I sensed that she stayed close, poised to intervene should anything happen.

“She was kicking and screaming and then… it was like some sort of fit, or seizure. I couldn’t rouse her. Cole came and talked to her… He told her to come away. She woke then, but she was too disturbed to tell us what happened.”

Solas faced me, his piercing gaze looking me over thoroughly. “Da’len. Try to steady yourself as I taught you. When you are ready, tell me what you remember.”

I took a moment to centre my thoughts again, grasping Cullen’s hand for strength. Then I told them everything I had seen in my vision. The presence I had felt, Ariu broken and blinded in that horrible place, the woman who cared for him and shared his imprisonment. Cullen and Solas listened patiently, never interrupting me. After I was done, Solas stayed silent for a time, deep in thought.

“Was it a nightmare?”, Cullen wondered uncertainly.

“No, not a nightmare. I believe she truly saw, for a moment, a reality happening somewhere far away.”, Solas replied, his expression solemn.

“How is that possible?”, I asked, my voice trembling.

“I cannot be certain, but… I think you were guided to your father’s consciousness by a spirit. It sounds like Ariu knew the spirit.”

“Ariu didn’t want me to know that he was still alive. He thinks he is protecting me by staying a prisoner of the Venatori… They tortured him. They are still torturing him… I felt what they had done when I was with him. So many things broken… He suffers because of me.”

Sorrow squeezed my heart like a vice, and I buried my face in my hands, unable to bear the thought of my father slowly dying to protect me. I’d already said my farewells to him, mourned him. Now he had come back to life, just so I would lose him all over again. How could fate be so cruel? I sensed more than saw Solas and Cullen exchange a meaningful look above my head. Cole touched my shoulder, humming a soothing melody to me.

“We need to speak to Leliana first thing in the morning, and call a war council. With Alec still gone… But we’ll think of something.” Cullen spoke quietly.

“I agree.”, Solas answered, sounding troubled. “She is very unsettled. Perhaps I should use a spell to give her a dreamless sleep.” I was shaking my head before he finished the sentence.

“Thank you, Solas, but I think we’ll manage.”, Cullen echoed my thoughts.

“Very well. Try to calm yourself, da’len. You will need your strength for what is to come. For now, your father still lives, and he is not alone. Take heart from that.” For now. But how long could he hold out?

“Hope is still with him. Only when hope goes, he goes too.”, Cole said in parting.

They went quietly, closing the door without a sound. Cullen fed the fire and left an oil-lamp burning on the side-table before he returned to the bed, climbing in beside me. He gathered me close, drawing the blankets around us. Very gently, he rocked me in his arms. My eyes closed, and it was almost like the motion of the sea. Warmth radiated from him, and calm. I let it seep over to me, feeling the tight bands of anxiety around my chest loosen. A sigh escaped me, and with it went some of the terrible strain in my body.

“Better?”, Cullen murmured as he smoothed a few strands of my hair away from my face. I gave a small nod.

“How did you know, that I like…”

“What a question.” He smiled indulgently. “How do we know anything about each other? By paying attention.”

“It’s just… such a childish thing.”, I whispered, ashamed. He sighed as though in disagreement.

“Finding comfort in familiar things is not childish. It’s human.” I let his comment sink in. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been here to comfort be today. A shiver went through me at the thought.

“I have to save Ariu, Cullen. I have to try.” I couldn’t keep the desperation from my voice. His fingers squeezed my shoulder where he held me.

“And we will. But we need a plan, sweetheart. This, for once, is something I know how to do. You can trust me and Leliana to find the course of action that will give us the best chance for success.”, Cullen explained patiently.

“But how will we know where he even is? How will we find him? And what if they kill him before we can get there?”, I fretted, but he stilled me with a touch.

“They will not kill him. I have a guess what happened, but I can’t be sure. I think that when they tried to capture you after the ship-wreck, something went wrong. The wounds on Ariu you told me about… He must have been their prisoner for months now. Instead of you, they captured him. Maybe they tried to… extort your whereabouts from him, or they attempted what they intend for you on him first. But it seems they failed. So, what would I do if I had the perfect bait? I would not kill it, but keep it alive, hoping to draw out the real target…”

“And that is why he broke our connection. He doesn’t want me to find him.”, I said bitterly. Cullen exhaled a breath.

“I am inclined to agree with him, Selkie. _You_ should not find him. This whole thing screams _'trap'._” I sat up straight in bed, aghast.

“You can’t think I would stay behind! _I won’t_!” My voice rose to a near-yell, and the intensity of my reaction seemed to shock Cullen. He reached for me cautiously.

“It’s too early to argue about such things, love. We know too little. Let us first hear what Leliana thinks about this entire affair.”, he tried to placate me, but I wasn’t fooled. I knew already that this would be an issue, and I wanted to forestall it before he got any ideas about excluding me from rescuing Ariu.

“I won’t have it, Cullen. I _will_ be there, no matter what we decide. I’ll not be left behind.”, I declared implacably.

Cullen sighed, neither gainsaying nor acceding. He looked at me silently for a long moment.

“We won’t decide anything tonight. Let’s just… go to sleep for now, alright? Come here.”, he coaxed softly, drawing me back down to his side. I went, but I had a feeling that we had merely postponed a problem rather than resolving it.

I fell into a restless sleep, filled with confusing images that made no sense at all. I dreamed of Cullen speaking to someone, but his voice was all wrong and broken and brimming with hatred. I dreamed of carrying a golden crown in my hands. I needed to bring it somewhere, but suddenly it split in two within my grasp, transforming into thorny vines, cutting my fingers. My blood fell to the ground, turning it to ashes. I dreamed of a garden, a snake watching me from the shadows. The single white rose wept inconsolably. Her sadness was a terrible thing to behold. The last thing I heard was the snake hissing, endlessly hissing. It was a laugh of triumph.

* * *

“It’s a trap.”, Leliana said, without the shadow of a doubt. The morning after my vision – for lack of a better word – Cullen had immediately called a meeting in the war room. Josephine and Solas were both present, but they left the talking to the three of us for now.

“It doesn’t change anything for me that it might be a trap, Leliana. I still have to try to save him.”, I told her the same thing I had told Cullen.

“I didn’t say _might_. There’s no doubt about it, the Venatori definitely want to draw you out. With this new piece of information, the assassin attack in Jader is set into a different light. Provocation? Likely… Hm… Things are still missing from the bigger picture. What to do, what to do?” Leliana didn’t seem to be talking to us anymore, instead she paced the length of the war table. I could almost hear the workings of her mind as she dissected the situation in order to understand it.

“Something doesn’t add up.”, the spymaster stated at length. Cullen and I looked at her questioningly.

“The woman. Who is she? How does she fit into all this?” This question was posed to me.

“I honestly don’t know. Because of Ariu’s near blindness, I could only see her aura. I would recognize her in a room full of people, but I can’t tell you anything tangible about her. No name, no face.”, I answered regretfully.

“Tell me about her anyway.”, Leliana bade, her gaze curious. I struggled to remember.

“There was something about her. A strength that defies adversity. She reminded me a bit of you, actually. Only… gentler. With fewer edges.” The spymaster threw Cullen an astonished look, but he only gave a small shrug.

“Someday when there is more time, I would like to talk more about this strange sight you have. For now, let us set the unknown woman aside. I am sure her role in this will become clear one way or another.”, Leliana continued seamlessly, then paused for a mere instant.

“It is unfortunate that the Inquisitor isn’t here to discuss the issue with us, but I can see that time is of the essence. I will send my fastest raven to him, although I’m certain he will agree that we cannot let the Venatori rampage on as they do. From what we saw of them until now, their grand scheme is to destabilize Orlais and Ferelden. I don’t know where their plan for Selkie comes in, but we will not let it come to pass. We will turn this trap to our advantage.”

“How do you propose we do that?”, Josephine interjected doubtfully. Leliana walked around the great map of Thedas, picking up a few unused markers.

“First of all, let’s map out the happenings precisely. We will ignore the Orlesian branch of the Venatori, since I know for sure that they operated separately from the Fereleden branch. Now, this all began with a ship. The Red Dragon.” Leliana placed a marker on the Storm Coast shores.

“After destroying the Tidedancer and possibly capturing Ariu, the Dragon sailed east along the Waking Sea, and the next we know is that the ship passed Amaranthine.”, Cullen supplied, placing another marker within the narrow channel between Brandel’s Reach and Amaranthine.

“Now we travel into the land of guesswork, but allow me to say that I simply don’t believe in coincidences. In the weeks when Selkie first came to us, we dispatched some soldiers to roust out a Venatori incursion into the Royal Palace of Denerim. Much later, as you remember, we found the bag of possessions with the templar sword here, on the coast near Denerim.”, Leliana went on, laying down the third marker.

“You suspect that the infiltrators came from the Dragon.”, Cullen concluded. It wasn’t a question.

“Exactly. I think they offloaded a few of their people there, and perhaps some prisoners. Where the ship sailed from there is anyone’s guess. This is where our trail grows cold.”, Leliana finished, crossing her arms and frowning.

“It’s likely that the assassin they sent after Selkie was part of that party as well. Since Jader had been the city where the Tidedancer was headed, maybe they thought she would turn up there. We still have too many loose pieces of information and don’t know how to put them together.”, Cullen said.

“Dorian had to make a detour to Redcliffe on his way back for a personal matter. But he will return soon, so we can at least have that scroll translated. Perhaps it contains some clue that will help us find the Red Dragon…” Leliana rubbed her chin contemplatively.

“A thin hope, but it would at least be something. There isn’t much civilization south of Denerim, and few people venture into the Brecilian Forest except the Dalish clans. The area is sparsely mapped out, and the sea even less so. It’s a lot of ground to cover.”, Cullen sighed.

“I think I can track the ship.”, I spoke up for the first time in a while. Everyone turned to look at me. Their collective regard embarrassed me.

“I… On the sea, I mean. Not from here, of course. I would need at least a general concept of where to start looking. The battleship… the Red Dragon, I think it’s magically fortified somehow. It was too fast and too destructive when it came for us. But such magic leaves traces in the waters it sails.”

“Ah, I see… Just like reading an aura, only in a bigger framework.”, Solas commented.

“But even if that works, you would need a ship.”, Cullen pointed out. I gazed at the map in concentration.

“Not just _any_ ship. A ship faster than the Tidedancer. A ship that can catch the Dragon.”

A short, pregnant silence fell.

“But Selkie… The Tidedancer was fast because you weaved the tides. Can’t you do that on any ship?”, this question came from Josephine. My answering smile was bitter with self-irony.

“Your confidence humbles me. It’s true that I can weave on any ship, but there are physical limits even I can’t surpass. It was never _just_ me that made the Tidedancer so unique. My father’s navigational skills, for one. And then there was the ship itself. Matthias and Ariu made many alterations to the design over the years. They tailored it to my magic. There isn’t another ship like that in the world.” I could hear the sadness in my own voice. But then I remembered something.

“I guess theoretically, we could… make the same changes on any regular frigate. But I don’t know the specifics of the design.”

“Your fathers must have had help from a shipwright to build such a formidable vessel.”, Josephine mused.

“Aye, they had… A man named Roland Grant. He is a friend of Matthias. Back then, he lived here, in West Hill.”, I tapped the place on the map. “But… I don’t think he will help us.”, I admitted reluctantly.

“Why not?”, Leliana asked.

“Well, for one, he retired years ago. I don’t know if he even still lives there. And… there was an unfortunate incident with Matthias the last time Roland altered the ship.”

“What happened?”, Cullen wondered, looking genuinely curious when he saw how uncomfortable I was with telling this story.

“Oh, it was a stupid thing, really… Something about an old Ferelden heirloom sold to Orlais on a treasure hunt and such.”, I evaded, omitting the other, more personal part of the whole affair.

“Do you think he is trustworthy? If he knew about your magic, it could have been him who betrayed you to the Venatori.”, Leliana mused. I thought about this possibility, then slowly shook my head.

“My fathers knew Roland for over a decade. And I don’t think they ever told him about my powers, not in detail. If he suspected something, he had years to betray us. No. Roland is a patriot, a true-born Fereldan, and he can hold a terrible grudge. But he is trustworthy. In any case, I doubt he will agree to help me in this.”

What Josephine said next struck me speechless.

“Will he go against a royal decree?”

I gaped at our ambassador.

“Excellent idea, Josie!”, Leliana exclaimed. “A royal decree. It will flatter his ego to have the king petition him to come out of retirement for a magnum opus, a last big design.”

“Wait… the king? The king of… Ferelden?”, I stuttered, but they ignored me.

“The diplomatic talks between Orlais and Ferelden will be held in ten days, in Jader. We can bring our request to King Alistair in person, so to say.”, Josephine ploughed on with enthusiasm.

“Or rather Selkie will bring it, with me at her side to mediate. Yes, that will work. We rid him of the assassins, after all, and took the mages off his hands.”, Leliana added confidently.

“And stabilized all of the Hinterlands. And the Storm Coast. And organized the peace talks on neutral grounds.”, Cullen threw in, while I was still stunned into silence.

“Also, I know for a fact that the king has a weakness for blue-eyed women.” Leliana bestowed me with a sly smile, completely oblivious to Cullen’s sudden glare at her. It took some effort, but I found my voice again.

“Wait, wait, wait. You want me to meet _a king_? You can’t be serious. There are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea! No matter how often you call me a lady, it won’t magically turn me into one. I’ll embarrass myself. I’m just a –“

“Stop right there.”, Josie cut me short. “We won’t let you embarrass yourself, Selkie. You will be well-prepared. Think about it. If we send a missive, it may take long until we get an answer. Pleading our cause in person communicates the urgency of our request. And to top it all, we maintain a presence at the peace talks, reminding the royalty of our involvement in the negotiations. It’s a political stroke of genius. The king will be hard-pressed to show himself grateful for our help in the past.”

“But… I can’t ask you to use your influence in my favour. It’s… too much. I don’t have anything to give you in return.”, I said desperately.

“You have helped us in many small ways. And you saved Cullen’s life. We don’t forget. Besides, the Venatori plot must be ended. Not just on land, but on the sea as well. The Red Dragon could do much damage wherever it goes. We cannot ignore it.”, Leliana’s voice was sharp as steel. I hated how reasonable she sounded.

“You are forgetting that I will lose my voice before your peace talks begin. How am I supposed to bring the request to the king? He can’t read my signs.”, I argued, hoping in vain.

“Leliana and I will translate for you.”, Cullen offered quietly. I threw up my hands.

“This is madness. You are all mad!”

Cullen turned to me, his features serious. He spoke to me as if we were alone in the room together, ignoring the others.

“It’s a sound plan. The request coming from you does give the whole story more credibility. The king is a sensible man. He can issue the royal decree for the shipwright at once, and Jader has a decent shipyard. We can have a vessel ready for Roland when he arrives. This is the fastest way to Ariu without us having to ask for Alec’s premature return from the Emprise. Besides… The king might give us some insight on where to start looking for the Dragon. His ships patrol the area south of Denerim.”

He was right. They had defeated me with _reason_, of all things. Damn it. Well… If I must come face to face with royalty in order to rescue my father, then void take me I would do that, too. I just hoped I wouldn’t make an utter fool of myself.

“_Fine_.” I didn’t manage to keep the churlish edge from my voice. “I will meet this king. Maker help us all if I start a war.”


	30. XXX. Forgotten Tales

### XXX. Forgotten Tales

_The Weaver_

* * *

In the nights following my vision of Ariu’s imprisonment and torture, I slept very badly. My anxiety about the planned journey to Jader – and the inevitable meeting with King Alistair – only added to the strain bearing down on me. I dreamed up horrible versions of this encounter, where some small slip of decorum left the whole court laughing at my boorish ignorance. For some reason, I pictured the king as a haughty figure with a perpetual sneer stamped onto his face.

Bizarre, disconnected sceneries crept in between these troubled nightmares, but often when I woke with a start, I had already forgotten what I’d seen. One theme recurred so many times that I did remember it. Images of the white rose weaved themselves in and out of my dreams, night after night. I had no idea what it meant, but my intuition connected the rose to the woman imprisoned with Ariu. Her qai had appeared to me that way, after all. Other than that small similarity, I couldn’t fathom why I was visited by the rose in my dreams.

I sought out Solas for help to decipher the mystery, and he proposed to watch over my dreams the following night. But the strangest thing happened – I didn’t dream at all. We tried again, and again nothing.

“It’s odd.”, Solas told me afterwards. “The only explanation I have is that something or someone communicates with you through these dreams, and whatever it is, it will not come while I watch. I am afraid I won’t be of much help with this enigma.”

Dorian returned a few days after my vision, and it didn’t even take him half a day to summon me to the library. I was very glad to see him well, greeting him with a warm hug which he – as usually – returned a bit awkwardly. But he was smiling when I pulled away. Then his expression turned uncharacteristically grave.

“I heard what happened.”, he said without preamble. “Sit, Princess. Tell me everything.”

So I talked for the better part of an hour. It was a clear sign of how seriously Dorian took the whole situation that he never interrupted me or made any of his evasive jokes. When I was finished, he leaned back into his armchair and shook his head.

“An echo of your voice… Which, by the way, is very sultry and spine-tingling. But the magic of it, Selkie… It’s really, _really_ complex. Creating a simulacrum of something as multi-faceted as a voice… Someone like Dagna might manage it, if you gave her a few months. Her mind is tediously logical. You would need a true savant in artefact enchantment, and endless resources. It troubles me that our enemy might have such means at their disposal…”

“I’m troubled as well, Dorian. I’ve entered a race against time, and I don’t even know what I will face at the end.” I didn’t take any pains to hide my distress. He gazed at me for a long moment.

“I don’t like seeing you worried like this. I could try to cheer you up with witty words, but I think I will do something useful for a change. See, this was on my desk when I arrived this morning.”

He lifted a piece of parchment I recognized at once. The mysterious Tevinter ‘poem’. Dorian handed me a second, different piece of parchment – this one was written in familiar common letters.

“It was a pain to translate, but lucky for you I am literate in some very obscure dialects of my homeland. That particular one, as well as the script, hasn’t been used in a thousand years, I should think. Read it out loud.” I found this an odd request, but cleared my throat and did as he asked.

“_Blood of Elya  
Sets me free  
Break her will  
Unleash the sea_

_Leave silence behind  
And face your fears  
In the heart of chaos  
Fell Elya’s Tears_

_In mists eternal  
No night no day  
Blood of Elya  
Guides the way _

_In darkness dreaming  
My kingdom asleep  
I bide my time  
I watch from the deep_

_Blood of Elya  
Strong is she  
Break her will  
Unleash the sea_

_For every lock  
There is a key  
I had strings  
But now I’m free._”

I began shivering as I read, gooseflesh rising on my arms. The words caused a peculiar prickle at the back of my neck, a sensation of acute uneasiness. A sensation one usually feels when being watched by someone whose attention one does _not _want to attract. I glanced around surreptitiously. Nothing unusual. Still… Something was not right about this… poem. It creeped me out. And yet I had the strange urge to read it again, but this time I should chant the words in the same tune the harlequin had sung before she’d died…

“Felt a chill down your spine?”, Dorian asked quietly. I blinked, shaking off the disturbing thoughts.

“What… what is this?” I put the translation onto the desk gingerly, as if it might bite me.

“I had a feeling that you’d be sensitive to the magic inside those words, even when they were translated. Partly because you are a mage, but also because – as a weaver – they call to you, specifically. I’m making a guess here, but usually my guesses are reliable. This is an old, _old_ incantation. It has a strong pull, an… allure almost, to be spoken. To be fulfilled.”, Dorian explained, his expression on some middle-ground between awed and worried.

“Again, this is advanced magic at work. From the content, I suspect that the incantation is a guide to release something – something we do not want to make the acquaintance of. Namely, a demon. The legend you told me about –” 

“No, Dorian.”, I cut across him, unwilling to believe what he was suggesting. “That’s just it – it’s a legend. It can’t be real!”

“Legends are just stories of the past that have been greatly embellished over time. And the Venatori who pursue you believe in this. That assassin was very real, Selkie. Do not take this thing lightly. You should treat this as real from now on, and here is another reason why: This text was written in a dialect from a time when the Disciples were strong in the Imperium.”

“The Disciples?”

“Yes, I know. Silly name. They were yet another group of fanatical magisters who believed binding the oldest, most cunning demons to their will would give them all sorts of insane powers. Control over the entire Fade, god-like strength – that sort of thing. They failed more often than they succeeded, but that didn’t discourage them from trying. The thing with binding demons is – the older and cleverer they are, the more likely it is that they would find loopholes in the binding spells. You can control a lesser shade quite easily, but a demon of pride, for example – very tricky.”

“Let’s say, for the sake of this whole story to make sense, that I believe Elya really bound a powerful demon somewhere.”, I said, not hiding my scepticism. “And the Venatori – who may or may not be Disciples – need me to undo the binding. There is still the fact that this spell must have held for over thousand years. You’d need a near endless supply of energy to feed the binding. Even I know that. And such magic would draw all sorts of attention. How has nobody found it until now?”

Dorian pondered this for a few minutes. “Perhaps they tried, but it’s too well hidden. Or perhaps they thought a weaver would guide them to the place. It’s in the poem, word for word. _In mists eternal, no night no day, Blood of Elya guides the way_.”

“That could be anywhere.”, I argued.

“It could, but I don’t think it is. I’m sure the answer is in here. These expressions are chosen strangely sometimes. This word for ‘fear’, for example – _tothmetus_. Literally it means ‘fearing Toth’. Toth was the Old God of Fire. Or this: Elya’s Tears. The old Tevinter word for ‘tear’ was sometimes used synonymously for ‘crystal’. Does any of this mean something to you? Have you ever heard stories of a place hidden in mists… maybe a cautionary tale?”

I thought about this at length. I’d heard a hundred tales of strange and hidden places in my youth – we had made our living by hunting treasure, after all. And of course, Ariu had told me many myths, fables and fairy tales as a child. Of floating cities in the clouds where time had no meaning and people lived forever. Of stone giants with beating hearts and souls, waging war against each other. Even one about an enchanted mirror that could suck you into a different world if you stared into it for too long. But those were children’s stories. I shook my head in frustration.

“No. I don’t know what it means. And even if I did… It wouldn’t change my plans. I have to rescue Ariu, no matter what.”

Dorian surveyed me, his voice cautious when he spoke. “Even if he does not want you to put yourself in danger? Even with the possibility that you are playing into our enemy’s hands?”

Absent-mindedly, I toyed with the anchor pendant around my neck. I’d started wearing it again recently. My thumb ghosted over the engraving at the back.

“Aye, even then.”

Dorian sighed. “Well, I suppose I shall try to see if I can read any more into this. While apparently you should be getting ready for your rendezvous with royalty.” He flashed me a cheeky smile.

“Rende-what?” 

“Never mind. I met the king in Redcliffe, you know. He’s tall, blonde and handsome. Which seems to be your type. Watch out for mix-ups.” His eyes twinkled mischievously when he saw the arrested expression on my face.

“So the rumours are true.”

I stood quickly, turning to leave. But as I was about to round the bookshelves, I looked back at him.

“What rumours?”

“I’m too heart-broken about your rejection to talk about it yet.”, Dorian said dramatically. Then he cocked one perfectly groomed brow. “Weren’t you leaving?”

“I am. This is me, leaving.”, I retorted. “Unless you want to tell me about those rumours?”

“I think not, Princess. Off with you. And when you see Cullen, tell him to meet me for chess later. It’s been ages since we had a game.”

I shook my head in irritation as I left.

* * *

Exactly ten days after our return, Cullen’s involuntary vacation from duty came to an end, and he took up his regular working hours as Commander again. We spent the nights together, either in my tavern room or – since it was simply more private – in his tower bedroom. It took some getting used to, having another person so close during sleep.

But most of the time, it was wonderful. He worried about my uneasy sleep, since I roused him several times every night when I woke from the strange dreams. I told him about the white rose one evening. He’d had a lengthy meeting with the captains and had come to my room long after midnight, finding me already asleep. But I’d woken with a jolt just the moment when he had stretched out beside me.

“My sister Mia has a fondness for flowers. She keeps a dozen books on plant symbolism in her house, and I remember her endless lectures about the meaning of flowers. Perhaps this dream is some kind of symbol too, like your perception of auras.”, he mused, playing with a loose wisp of my hair.

“She sounds like a romantic.” I smiled when he heaved one of his fatalistic sighs. It meant he agreed. “So, what would a white rose symbolize?”

“Let me think… It was a long time ago, you see.”, Cullen said, stifling a yawn. “Purity, innocence. But it’s also the traditional bridal flower at weddings.” He cocked his head and surveyed me curiously. “Are you dreaming of weddings, sweetheart?”

“What?”, I exclaimed, flabbergasted. “I didn’t even know the meaning until now. How can I dream of something I don’t know?” Cullen laughed, and my heart jumped at the beloved sound as it always did. Or perhaps it had jumped because he had uttered the word ‘wedding’.

“I see. You intend to live in sin with me forever.” There was a whimsical undertone in his voice now, a thing that surfaced far more often than when I’d first met him. Our lives might be dangerous and filled with troubles, but I drew strength from the light-hearted moments we shared during our nights together.

“You are being silly.”, I accused, which made him clear his throat with mock severity.

“Forgive me. Are you opposed to the idea of marriage? It occurs to me that I never asked you. Your upbringing was not exactly traditional.”, he went on more seriously.

“Not at all. My fathers are married.” Cullen looked astonished by my answer.

“They are?”

“Aye. But you know, not by a Chantry Mother. They were married by a captain, on the high seas.”, I explained.

“Would you like that for yourself?”, he asked, his voice softening. I thought about this for a time.

“I’m not sure… No, I think I would want it to be official. With my friends there and… my fathers.”, I stopped for an instant, swallowing down a knot of grief. “Before… before the Maker. On the off-chance that he is watching, I wouldn’t like to anger him.”

Cullen looked very pleased by my answer. “Me, neither.”, he said quietly, brushing a kiss to my forehead. I felt him drifting off to sleep, but I didn’t want the agitating dreams to return so soon.

“Tell me about the king.” His eyes opened again, and a little frown marred his brow.

“I thought Josephine and Leliana briefed you about him as best they could.” I gave a one-sided shrug.

“Aye, but I wanted to know what you think about him. Have you met him? What kind of person is he?” Cullen inhaled a deep breath and pondered my question.

“I met him twice. Both times it was under… difficult circumstances. He was with the Hero of Ferelden when she liberated the Circle Tower where…”, he trailed away as if he had lost his train of thought. I understood. The memories of that dark time haunted him still.

“You know the Hero of Ferelden too, don’t you? Leliana told me.”, I steered the topic into a more innocent direction. Or perhaps not so innocent, since Cullen looked momentarily flustered, almost… abashed.

“Yes. She was one of my charges. I attended her Harrowing. A remarkable woman.” His voice sounded absent-minded, as if he didn’t quite realize what he said. My eyes narrowed, and I resolved that I didn’t like this famed Hero of Ferelden overly much. Cullen’s attention returned to me.

“I heard that she and Alistair… were involved. I’m not one for gossip, but there was a nasty incident a few years back that even got through to us templars in the Kirkwall Circle.”

“What kind of incident?”, I wondered, curious.

“Alistair wanted to marry Lady Amell, you see, against the wishes of his teyrns and arls. They _might _have accepted a Free Marches queen, but she was a mage as well, and there they drew the line. The king was furious. He vowed not to marry at all, or so rumours say. But his anger backfired on Lady Amell – the other ladies of the court shunned her, tried to drive her out. Some say she stayed as his secret mistress for a time. But ultimately, the politics drove a wedge between them, and they went separate ways.”

My heart grew heavy as I listened to his deep baritone telling the story of two star-crossed lovers. With all his power, a king is still not free to choose the woman he loves as his wife. I wondered if he had any kind of freedom at all. And the woman… She must have been heartbroken. I regretted my earlier rush of jealousy when Cullen had spoken so admiringly of her. Now I felt sorry for her.

“It’s a sad tale.”, Cullen said gently, guessing my thoughts.

“We got lucky, didn’t we?”, I whispered, but it wasn’t really a question.

“Yes, love. We got lucky.”, he breathed. I sighed, nestling my face into the hollow of his throat. Home.

“I fear for my father, Cullen.” My lips quivered as I gave voice to my fears. “I fear he has no time left. That I will be too late. I don’t dare to hope…”

“It’s never wrong to hope.”, he said, hugging me tighter to him. “It might hurt, but it’s never wrong. We will do whatever we can. Trust in us.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice rhythmic and resolute:

“_I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is there_.”

* * *

My voice left me three days before we departed for Jader (or Jader the second, as I called it). It was simply gone when I woke up in the morning. Several times I attempted to speak, to scream even. Nothing. I was muted once more. Even though I’d known it would happen, the loss hit me hard. Cullen, who was already dressed and on his way to his study, stopped short when he saw my desperate ministrations.

“It’s gone?”, he asked needlessly.

“Gone.” My sign was a little rusty from disuse. He came back to the bed, sinking to his haunches so he was on eye-level with me.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”, he said empathically. “That is another thing we will get back for you. And this time, for good.”

I could do little else than nod, but his determined words cheered me.

Prior to the peace talks, there was one incident that struck me as strange and left me thoroughly puzzled. Lounging in Dorian’s favourite armchair in the library, I was studying Fereldan history when I noticed someone approaching me. I looked up to find an elven woman dressed in long flowing enchanter’s robes surveying me with alert eyes. Oh. I knew her, although only in passing – I’d delivered the occasional message or two to her. Grand Enchanter Fiona.

“You are studying the royal lineage, I see.”, she said. Her melodic voice had an unmistakable Orlesian accent. I looked at her aura, which was… very difficult to read, blurred and opaque. I wondered if she consciously veiled herself from me, but berated myself for the thought at once. One shouldn’t be prying behind closed doors. I closed my book and deposited it on the side-table.

“Can I help you, Grand Enchanter?”, I signed although I doubted she understood me. She seemed to catch the gist of it, however.

“I heard that you will attend the peace talks to bring a request before King Alistair.”

I sighed, already tired of this whole ordeal. But Ariu needed me. I gave Fiona a short nod.

“Your ambassador, Lady Josephine, asked me to enchant the gift you will be presenting to the king as a show of good-will.”, she continued.

Only now did I notice the long, wrapped bundle she held. A sword, its hilt handsomely decorated. As far as I could tell, the pommel was from solid gold and shaped to resemble the head of some sort of creature. A hound? I had always hated Josephine’s lessons on heraldry. A pity, since it was one of her passions. She had never gotten over the fact that I was a hopeless disappointment when it came to those kinds of things. But I did know that the Theirin family’s crest depicted two mabari hounds, mainly because I had just seen it in the book.

“I came to deliver it so you can pack it for your journey. Would you like to see it?”, Fiona asked.

I almost shrugged, but held myself in check because it would have been rude to let show that I didn’t know the first thing about swords, and didn’t really care. The Grand Enchanter removed the fine leather wrap from the blade. Runes were engraved into the polished steel, glowing faintly. I sensed the magical inscription, written by a master’s hand. Had Fiona enchanted it herself? Probably.

“I hope this will please the king. It was crafted as an exact replica of his father Maric’s sword.” There was something odd in her voice then, but I couldn’t discern what. She sounded wistful. I thanked her awkwardly as she re-wrapped the blade. The whole encounter left me feeling downcast, with no idea why.

That evening, I showed the weapon to Cullen. I might have lacked the appreciation for a good sword, but when I saw him grip the hilt and execute a few ridiculously nimble swipes with it, I felt a great appreciation for men who _wielded_ good swords.

“It would be a bit too short for me.”, Cullen remarked reflectively, his inquisitive eye scanning the blade. “But it’s the perfect length for him. A remarkable weapon. Do you see this rune? It’s a diversion enchantment. Very tricky to make. I knew a Tranquil who could make them, but even Dagna has problems with this particular rune. Did she do this?”

I shook my head, suppressing a smile at his weapon-related expertise. He could go on and on about the subject.

“The Grand Enchanter did it, I think.”

“Odd.”, Cullen frowned, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Normally, this should have been Dagna’s responsibility. In any case, this gift will come in handy.” With a fluent, ingrained movement he slid the sword back into its elaborate sheath. It made a soft swishing sound, like a quiet snicker.

“This reminds me – on the matter of swords, the weaponsmith finished this for you today. Just in time.”, Cullen said, depositing Alistair’s gift on the table and lifting a different bundle instead. He undid the wrappings and showed me the weapon. It was an Antivan sabre, similar to the one we had used in our sparring lessons until now.

Only this one had a gleaming black scabbard with a subtle but high-quality silver mouthpiece. The grip was bound with some special kind of leather – to allow better purchase for a hand, I assumed – and the knuckle-bow was fashioned into a modest swirl around the hilt. It was not a showy weapon. But as Cullen held it out for me and I pulled the sabre from the sheath, I thought for a moment that I was holding air.

By some feat of craftsmanship, the weaponsmith had made it incredibly light. And perfectly balanced. I tried a few cautious swings. The blade moved elegantly, smoothly, almost like water. When one of my movements brought it too close for Cullen’s comfort, he deftly caught the pointy end between thumb and forefinger.

“Careful.”, he said with an indulgent smile. “This one is sharp.” 

“Sorry!”, I signed one-handedly, then I slid the sabre back into the sheath.

“Thank you for doing this.” I rose to tiptoes and planted a kiss on his bristly cheek. “I know you were against teaching me how to fight.”

“I would have preferred it if my own skills and influence were enough so you would never _need_ to learn fighting.”, he replied. “But I realize how unrealistic that is. It’s better that you know. Although I still hope you won’t have to use it.”

“Me, too. But if I must, I at least know how now. More or less.” I signed with a generous amount of self-irony.

Cullen gave me a lop-sided smile.

“More or less is better than not at all.” 

I tried to smile back at him, but a strange wave of melancholy overcame me, and I felt my shoulders droop as though a heavy burden was pulling me down towards the ground. My gaze was drawn to the cedarwood horse displayed on the side-table of my room.

Childhood seemed so far away now. Life-times ago. It had been an untroubled life for me. But now I wondered… Had my fathers ever slept through the night without fearing for me? Had they ever had a moment’s peace, knowing that they hid the Blood of Elya beneath their mantle? All those warnings, all the caution… How much had they known?

“I recognize it when I see doubt on your face.” Cullen’s voice brought me back to the present. His hand slid up my arm, coming to rest lightly on my shoulder. He was looking down at me intently.

“I can’t seem to… to find my footing.”, I signed miserably. “It hurt so much that Ariu would reject me. He… he pushed me away.”

“He did it to protect you.”, Cullen argued calmly, but I shook my head.

“And what else did he hide from me to ‘protect me’? I don’t know what to trust anymore!”

“Selkie.” He spoke my name very seriously. I stilled. “Don’t doubt now. You have come so far, my love. You rose from a shattered world. You changed, you grew. Who taught you that strength? That courage?”

I swallowed. “Both. They both taught me. In their own way.”

Cullen nodded, lifting my chin gently. “Then, for now, that is what matters. Once we find Ariu, you’ll ask your questions of him. Until then…”

“Until then, I’ll still have to meet a king and convince him to help us.”, I signed, my expression surly.

“And you will do just fine with that as well.”, he said, sounding utterly unworried. I stared at him, a little exasperated.

“You can’t know that for certain.”, I pointed out.

“You are right. I can’t. But I have yet to see you fail at something when you truly set your mind on it. And isn’t that a most reassuring thought?”

To be honest, his tone was so absurdly confident, I couldn’t think of a single retort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's comment to Selkie at the end "You rose from a shattered world. You changed, you grew." was inspired by the quote "I rise from my worst disasters. I turn, I change." by Virginia Woolf. It's a beautiful, simple quote. <3
> 
> He also prays from the Canticle of Trials in this chapter (I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is here.).
> 
> Although nothing really concrete happens in this chapter, there are a lot of implications I made to different aspects of the story that will play a role later. I hope you enjoy nevertheless :)


	31. XXXI. All the King's Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair makes an entrance! :>

### XXXI. All the King’s Men

_The Weaver_

* * *

This time around, the journey to Jader was very different to my first one. For one, Leliana accompanied us. I had never seen her leave her post before, with the exception of our visit at the Winter Palace. For another, a full honour guard travelled at our side, clad in special armour that would unmistakably mark our presence. Josephine had to stay behind, since the diplomatic workload still ran rampant in the wake of Celene’s ball and the upcoming negotiations between Orlais and Ferelden.

I’d been baffled when Master Dennet had gifted me with a new saddle for Gambit. It seemed that he’d taken my sudden disappearance from Skyhold hard, which made my heart swell with fondness for the grouchy old stablemaster. The saddle was made from soft calfskin, and dyed a lovely shade of maroon, polished to a shine. Gambit was enjoying the feel of it too.

When we arrived into Jader, the city already sizzled with an aura of keen anticipation, the streets filled with an abundance of people. The inns were filled to capacity, with signs hung outside their entrances that no new guests could be accommodated. The peace talks were not just an issue for nobility – of whom I saw many, especially as our procession neared the high quarter of the city.

Merchants and traders from both nations had made the journey to observe the goings-on, and with all the lords and ladies and their entourage, Jader was suddenly oppressively crowded. Should the talks go favourably, everyone was hoping to forge alliances and profit from the newfound stability between Ferelden and Orlais.

I didn’t much enjoy guiding Gambit through the bustle of people coming and going on the cobbled streets. Having to tamp down the assault on my senses, especially my qai – it made me feel edgy and uneasy. 

To top it all off, there were guards everywhere. Guards with feathered helmets shaped into masks, glinting with silvery perfection in the sun. Guards with golden armour and fur-lined cloaks resembling very closely the one Cullen always wore. Their vigilant eyes scanned our party as we rode through the gates up to Lord d’Aumont’s residence, a sprawling palais which, as most noble’s dwellings, sat on a rise overlooking the city.

Cullen had explained to me that the marquis had opened his home as a favour to the Inquisition, and the peace talks would be held in his halls. I’d asked him about the difference between a palais and a palace, but he had just given me a revolted kind of look and said ‘I’m sure I have no idea’. Leliana had answered instead, launching into a dissertation about the number of bedrooms and what-not.

We were quartered in the West Wing, inside lavishly decorated chambers with aesthetic eggshell-coloured walls. Every last piece of furniture was so meticulously spotless, I had a constant urge to wash my hands before touching anything.

The rooms seemed cavernous to me, the ceilings much too high for my taste. I’d gotten used to the compact cosiness of my tavern room at Herald’s Rest. Leliana, Cullen and I each had separate bedrooms connected by a wide solar (the word solar had only recently been taught to me). Apparently, we had to keep up appearances, but I suspected one of the three beds would stay quite empty and cold during our stay here.

After looking my fill of the plentiful gold-trimmed stuffs in my room, I entered the solar and found Leliana and Cullen sitting across each other on the plush sofas. An assortment of parchments and maps lay spread out over the desk between them, like some miniature version of the war table. Neither wore their usual attire, although Cullen seemed much less comfortable with his lack of armour than Leliana, who looked completely at ease. The spymaster caught my eye after I had closed the door behind me.

“My agents tell me that we have been appointed some of the best-kept chambers, which shows that Lord d’Aumont wishes to be on our good side. I believe only royalty is above us in terms of accommodation.”, she declared with a sweeping glance around the room.

“Now, our audience with the king is scheduled for tomorrow after the first round of negotiations. But we should make an appearance at the opening soiree held in the ballroom this evening. It will give us a chance to ease our way, if you introduce yourself to him prior to the meeting.” My mouth fell open in shock. I had agreed to meet the king, but to be paraded around the highest nobility of two nations had not been part of this bargain! A soiree? What on earth was a soiree, anyway?

“Leliana! I’m going to make a fool of myself!”, I signed heatedly, sending Cullen a beseeching look.

“Nonsense. I’ll be with you the whole time. No, Cullen, don’t interrupt. Look, Selkie. This is all about posturing. We have to make the most of every situation. How can you even embarrass yourself? You can’t speak. Everything you sign will be put into the right light by me or Cullen.”

“Because I am such an expert on court etiquette.”, Cullen interjected with stinging sarcasm.

“Why did I allow you to come if you are not planning to be useful?”, Leliana wondered. Cullen raised a brow.

“_Allowed_ me? I think this spymastering is going to your head.”, he mused, rubbing his chin with a troubled expression.

“Oh, hush. Just stand there and look formidable then. Let me do the talking.”

That was something we could both happily agree to. I hedged that it wasn’t just about posturing for Leliana. Rather she wanted to observe the political happenings in person and judge the mood of these peace talks herself. Her agents reported very thoroughly, but I guess it is just the same with spymasters as it is with commanders.

Cullen did not usually lead from the front-lines, he delegated. In a way, every sword wielded by every Inquisition soldier was an extension of his own sword. But every once in a while, he still went into the fray himself. To stay sharp, perhaps. And so it was with Leliana.

The hours until the evening passed much too quickly, and my anxiety began mounting exponentially. I went through Josephine’s lessons in my head, the curtsies and pleasantries and posture exercises. I went through everything I knew about the king, but my mind somehow kept snagging on the ill-fated affair Cullen had told me about.

Despite all the reassurances that Alistair was an unconventional king who didn’t have much patience for fanfare and such, I couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. I kneaded my hands nervously the entire time Leliana spent helping me dress and braiding my hair. She hummed obliviously to herself, as if entirely in her element, while my thoughts resembled a crowded crossroads where nothing moved in either direction.

When I had first received the silver silken dress from Josephine, I’d never expected to actually wear it someday. Well, I had never expected a lot of things, I mused as I stepped into the solar and caught sight of Cullen in his formal attire. Still naturally handsome, the man.

He turned to look at me, his gaze filled with such unconcealed appreciation that I blushed scarlet. Which made a wicked promise flash in his eyes. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. The intense exchange was cheerfully butchered by Leliana’s next words.

“I miss the times when the two of you used to be all choked-up and awkward around each other. It was so much fun to watch.” 

“I am sorry that we no longer provide you with amusement.”, Cullen said in a grave tone.

“The idle hours must be terribly dull now.”, I signed solemnly. Leliana actually chuckled.

* * *

Our humorous mood did not last, though. My heart felt rather like a foreign object I’d swallowed when we entered the grand ballroom. We arrived with the event already in full swing, the crystal chandeliers glittering above and the richly dressed people glittering below.

The Orlesians stood out, not just because of their masks, but because they were dressed much showier than the Fereldan nobility, whose attire was of a more pragmatic sort. Or perhaps it just struck me as such in comparison.

Despite the size of the huge, domed room, there was little air to breathe with all the people packed into it. They conversed among each other, the manifold murmurs accompanied by the clinking of wine-glasses and the tunes played by some unseen musician group.

Cullen served as a wedge for Leliana and me to forge our way through the crowd, navigating his way forward like a ship’s bow cutting the waves. For this part, he was the perfect choice. Besides, his height meant that he could overlook the whole room from a good vantage point. Otherwise we might have wandered about aimlessly for an eternity.

I struggled to keep my breathing steady and my qai from being crushed by the suffocating number of auras. Were there really this many nobles in the world? Why did they all have to come here? Wouldn’t it have been enough to have the king and the empress talk to each other?

I felt dizzy from the stuffy air, laden with perfumes and the smell of too many humans in too small a space. Cullen sensed my growing agitation. His hand settled firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the throng while keeping everyone an arm’s length away from us.

“Spotted him yet, Cullen? He shouldn’t be hard to find. You should recognize him by the crown.”, Leliana spoke from behind us, her voice ringing with excitement. At least one of us was enjoying this spectacle.

“Very funny, Leliana.”, Cullen grumbled, but then his eyes focused on something I couldn’t see. “I think I found him.”

We suddenly emerged into a less stuffy area by climbing two steps to the edge of the ballroom. Tall double doors inlaid with stained glass stood open to allow fresh air in from the wide balcony beyond. Two gold-armoured guards flanked a pair of men who were holding counsel around a laid table.

The one to the left looked around fifty years old, with his dark brown hair and beard evenly interspersed with silver. I filed through the lists of Ferelden nobility Josephine had hammered into me. This must be Teagan Guerrin, the Arl of Redcliffe. And the other –

“What do I spy here? Is it royalty?” Leliana’s light banter stunned both me and Cullen witless.

Neither of us had ever heard her use such a tone of voice before, as if she was greeting a younger brother. The second man turned to face us, and there was a wide, quizzical smile on his lips as he did.

A simple golden band crowned his blonde head, his smoothed-back hair a shade darker than Cullen’s, perhaps. The high collar of his traditional attire was lined with fine white fur. He wore a kind of leather that looked supple enough to be mistaken for cloth, and although he donned as little adornment as possible, there could be no doubt about his identity.

The king of Ferelden made quick work of my expectations. He had to be in his mid-thirties, his prominent features not yet touched by age, his dark eyes dancing with more humour than monarchs should generally possess. And, I had to admit to myself, he was attractive. I wondered distractedly if I had developed a liking for Ferelden men in general, while at the same time I knew an odd feeling of familiarity. A sensation that something exactly like this had happened to me before. Which was ridiculous, of course.

“Well I’ll be a nug’s uncle! Leliana?! You, here? In the flesh?”, Alistair exclaimed in surprise. He made a small motion for the guards to let us through. While Leliana stepped up and executed a flawless curtsy, the king reached for her momentarily. As if he wanted to _hug_ her.

What a bizarre thought. Nobody _hugged_ Leliana. In the end, he resigned himself to grasping her hand as she straightened again, a fond expression on his royal features. This was not the Inquisition seneschal greeting a nation’s sovereign. This was a reunion between old friends. I wondered if Leliana drew some special form of sustenance from leaving me on the tenterhooks by not telling me how close she was with Alistair. Madwoman.

“When I got your message, I had no idea you would come personally. I was expecting a diplomatic puppet, or some other shady character.”, Alistair said, still smiling crookedly. “Left Hand of the Divine, seneschal of the Inquisition? You make me look boring by comparison.”

“Surely not, Your Majesty.”, Leliana replied with a droll look.

The king seemed to notice me and Cullen then, turning his attention to us. Recognition flared in his gaze when he saw Cullen, who bowed deeply before him. Me, he scrutinized with a frown on his forehead and an uncertain expression, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of me.

“You already know Commander Cullen, the leader of our military branch.”, Leliana began seamlessly.

“Yes, we have met.”, Alistair murmured. “And your men drove the Venatori assassins from the palace. I think I speak for all of us if I say ‘Good riddance’. You have my gratitude, Commander.”

“As well as for resolving the situation in Redcliffe.”, the second man now joined the conversation. A shadow passed over the king’s face, there and gone in a second. His aura flickered, darkening like a bright day suddenly overcast by clouds.

He rang strangely to my senses, a node of intersecting impressions I couldn’t really separate from each other. There was something powerful flowing in his veins alongside the water of his life. Something that made me think of riding the currents of wind in an endless sky, golden wings spread wide. I blinked away the peculiar thought.

“The Grand Enchanter fought beside my father and my mentor Duncan as a Grey Warden. I granted the mages refuge because I was… sympathetic. Or perhaps sentimental.” There was a meaningful undercurrent in his voice as he said this, and he glanced at Leliana briefly.

“But enough doom and gloom. Who is this lady in your company?”

“If I may introduce Lady Selkie Cornwall, a mage who came to us after escaping an attack on her family’s ship by the Venatori. Several times, they tried to capture her. We came to you to seek aid for hunting down the Venatori who wrought so much havoc around Ferelden lately.” Leliana dropped this weighty issue right into the middle of our little company. I was a bit taken aback by her bluntness – she didn’t usually come out with the truth so directly. Not without at least leading her opponents on a merry dance for a while.

“Lady Selkie, His Majesty King Alistair Theirin.”

This was my cue. I managed a more-or-less graceful curtsy, as Josephine had tried to teach me. Alistair surveyed me again. For a moment, he seemed to concentrate very hard, like a man who was trying to remember something he had forgotten. Then his expression smoothed over with a polite interest.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Selkie. It sounds like you have a difficult journey behind you. I’ll have to hear about it in detail, but as a fellow victim of Venatori plots let me say that I understand your wish to hunt down those blighters.”, the king addressed me.

“You should know that Lady Selkie cannot speak at the moment. The Venatori stole her voice with a spell. I’ll be happy to translate her sign language for you, though.”, Leliana interjected pleasantly. Alistair cocked a brow in astonishment.

“That’s… terrible. I’d go mad if I wasn’t able to vent my excess thoughts into speech. Or cursing. Especially at my scribes. How can you stand it?”

I started signing my answer hesitantly at first.

“It took some time to get used to it, Your Majesty.”, Leliana translated in a fluent voice. “But you’d be surprised how well people understand cursing even without the words.”

“Oh, truly? Would you give me a demonstration?”, Alistair requested, flashing me a grin. I was thrown by his much too casual behaviour, and my next sentence came out all jumbled.

“I am crude when in public, and language shouldn’t be a king exposed.” Leliana stopped suddenly, realizing what she had translated. Cullen cleared his throat audibly, before he corrected the mess. 

“I shouldn’t be exposing a king to crude language in public.” After a heartbeat of silence, he leaned towards Leliana and added: “’Let me do the talking’?”

But Alistair simply… laughed. And the silly, embarrassing moment broke the ice. Just like that. All things considered, my first meeting with the king went remarkably well. Unconventional, indeed. We didn’t speak about the specifics of our request that evening, but kept up a lively conversation guided by Leliana, or Cullen when my signs became too complex.

Alistair put me at ease with his artless demeanour, coaxed forth many a smile with humorous remarks, and even asked me for a dance. If refusal had been an option, I probably would have declined, and not just because I saw Cullen stiffen at the king’s request. It just didn’t feel right, but a wordless gesture from Leliana forced me to oblige.

We muddled through it together, me and Alistair, although that look of concentration returned to his face as he led me across the floor.

“Have we met before?”, he mused quietly. “I feel like I know you from somewhere…”

Unable to reply with more than a shake of my head, I produced a neutral smile, hoping that it hid the fact how strange all of this was for me. Alistair lapsed into a pensive silence for the rest of the dance. Now that he was close enough, I could explore his qai more thoroughly. What I saw led me to a surprising realization.

It was a subtle thing. I might have missed it had I not caught his gaze at the exact right moment: A fleeting, brief look of dejection, hiding behind his eyes. A loneliness that cannot be filled, not even by all the best company in the world. Only by the one who had caused it. And he concealed it so well. I felt like a thief who had stolen a deeply personal treasure.

Maker, I wasn’t supposed to see something so private. Why couldn’t I stop prying into people’s affairs? Why did this matter to me, anyway? I should be thinking about Ariu, and choosing a proper ship for rescuing him, and the decree I needed to request from Alistair. Disturbed, I looked aside from him. He never noticed my odd reaction.

* * *

Cullen, on the other hand, sensed that something wasn’t quite right with me since I’d dreamed of Ariu’s imprisonment. That night, after sneaking into his bedroom to sleep beside him, I was roused when he shook me awake firmly.

I woke with a jolt, completely disoriented for a moment. A lit oil-lamp burned on the night-stand, its decorative glass cover throwing lively patterns across the walls. Cullen leaned over me, his face drawn with lines of worry.

“Your dreams frighten me, sweetheart.”, he whispered anxiously, his fingers brushing over my cheeks. Brushing away tears. Had I cried? But… Why? I groped for the memory of my dream, but it was like snatching after evanescent mist.

“You sleep so deeply, it’s almost as if you aren’t here at all. I fear that you will be lured away again, and this time Cole is not here to help me. Was it like this before? Did you ever dream this intensely?”

“I don’t know.”, I signed truthfully. I had always dreamed intensely, but which mage doesn’t? This was different, though, intuition warned me. Cullen looked unhappy with my answer.

“Do you remember what you saw?”, he asked.

I tried, I really did. But all I could remember was a _feeling_. A powerful longing, an ache that would never leave. It still echoed within me, like a chord resonating long after the hand which had struck it was gone. Where had it come from? Cullen kissed my closed lids gently.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

But instead of heeding him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him. I sought his mouth with my lips, using his startled surprise to lick my way inside. I clung to him, my kiss almost desperate in its passion. His response came hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure what was happening.

I let my hands slide downward, over his ribcage and to his hips, and then boldly grasped his length. It was at half-mast, not fully hard yet, but it jerked as soon as my fingers closed around it. Cullen groaned into my mouth. I bit down on his lip, nibbled it, sucked on the delicious taste.

“We shouldn’t –“, he panted between kisses, but his body belied his words. His hands were pushing beneath my nightgown, hiking it up and out of the way, straining the seams. The thin fabric whispering over my skin made me shudder, and I rubbed my breasts against his chest.

The speed of my body’s reaction shocked me a little. I was already wet, ready for him. No, we shouldn’t. I’d left the herbal potion back at Skyhold. We were being reckless. Tempting fate too early. When his fingers searched through my intimate curls and he found the evidence of my desire, he made an agonized sound.

“Oh, _void take it_.”

Then he was suddenly above me in one lightning-quick motion, and the air emptied from my lungs when I felt the head of his cock push against my entrance. I squirmed beneath him, lifting my hips in invitation. Now.

He didn’t need encouragement. With one forceful thrust, he entered me fully and oh Maker, the sheer pleasure of his possession. My mouth opened on a silent cry, toes curling into the silken sheets, pleasure skittering down my spine. I reared to meet him, but his hand caught mine, pinning it down to the mattress.

“You’ll have your way tonight.”, he breathed huskily as he began to move inside me.

Slow and sure. Deep and steady. Our fingers intertwined, holding on to each other. He made love to me as though determined to chase away all the shadows that loomed over an uncertain future. Whispering sweet, sinful words into my ear.

The world shifted out of focus when he made me come apart in his arms, and the forces pulling me into so many directions fell silent. For a fleeting moment, all that mattered was that he was with me.

“I love you.”, I mouthed against his lips, kissing him deeply. His body tensed and shuddered. He let go then, allowing himself his own fulfilment.

Our passions sufficiently cooled, we lay together in comfortable silence for a while. I didn’t know how much time passed before Cullen spoke softly.

“I have a strange feeling.”, he said, his voice concerned. I looked at him questioningly. “Like… we are missing something important. Some pieces just don’t quite fit.”

“What can we do?”, I signed, sharing his uneasiness. Cullen sighed out heavily.

“We are already doing what we can. I just don’t like going into a situation without knowing what to expect. I can’t prepare us for things I don’t know. And I still bristle at the thought of you commanding a ship right into the heart of danger.”, he went on tersely.

“The sea is where I am strongest, my love. Have faith in me.”

“I have great faith. That is not the issue. What if they use disruption fields again, like the harlequin did? I still have no idea how they created them. It’s a templar ability, somehow made into… a grenade, of sorts. I have never seen anything like it. Neither has Dagna. She’s still puzzling over the poison the harlequin used, too. Our enemies employ unique weapons, tailored to exploit your weaknesses. Who says they will not outplay us again?”

“My hope is that this time, we will take them by surprise. That’s why I need the ship, Cullen. They don’t expect me to strike back. They expect me to hide, or perhaps run into their trap. Like a coward. I will hide no more.” My hands moved with purpose.

“Yes, I know that stubborn lift of your chin that tells me any attempt to change your mind is doomed to failure.” It’s beyond me how he managed to sound simultaneously proud and sad when he said this.

* * *

The next day, we were left waiting for the negotiations to end and our private audience with the king to begin in the evening. We didn’t stay idle, though. Cullen and I took the soldiers we brought and rode down to the docks, where we tried to find a suitable ship to buy.

The problem wasn’t that there weren’t enough ships in the harbour, but that few of their owners were inclined to sell. Yet this was a thing where the words ‘Inquisition business’ and ‘proper compensation’ went a long way. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had Cullen beside me, whose aura of authority had all kinds of funny effects on the sailors.

After spending hours inspecting several vessels thoroughly, I stood on the deck of an Antivan frigate much similar to the Tidedancer. She was a newer model though, sleeker and more streamlined, her hull less wide but at least fifteen to twenty feet longer. I surveyed the quality of the wood critically, tested the feel of the water lapping against her stern, gauged the amount of pressure her keel exerted.

Cullen stood a little distance away, holding a taciturn stillness while the captain stared at me in confusion. He’d likely never seen a ship inspection such as this one. Eventually, I gave a decided nod. This would do. Familiar ground, but with a few tweaks.

It was a strange experience, being on deck again after months of living on solid ground. My qai itched to weave, to take us out for a trip across the waves. I moved my hand surreptitiously, letting a bit of water skim over the hull. It heeded me with a naughty snicker. Cullen’s eyes jumped to me immediately, brows pulling into a frown.

“We’ll take her.”, he said without looking at the captain. “Bring her into the shipyard as soon as possible.”

“Er, beg your pardon, ser.”, the captain seemed baffled by his request. “She’s ready to sail, she is. Just renewed the canvases, did repairs to the rudder. If you have doubts, I can have the boys show you how she –“

“No, thank you.”, Cullen cut across him, firmly but not unkindly. “Everything is fine, captain. Still, to the shipyard. Soon.”

“Ser.”, the man acknowledged with an air of incomprehension.

A setting sun painted the skies in hues ranging from scarlet to lavender when Cullen and I returned to the palais. From afar, the sea glittered like a collection of countless gemstones scattered across a velvet blanket. We barely arrived in time for our audience with King Alistair. Leliana had already gone ahead of us, and Cullen and I quickly changed to follow her.

A taciturn herald chaperoned us to the king’s quarters (which were indeed somewhat more luxurious than ours), and left us waiting in a spacious reception room. While Cullen examined a weapon display on the gilded walls, I paced in front of the door at the far end. It took a moment until I noticed that it stood ajar, and voices were drifting through the small crack. I stopped abruptly, listening.

“Have you heard nothing?”, Alistair asked, sounding tense.

“I contacted her after Adamant and received a letter in response. She was looking for a way to cure the taint… to prevent the Calling. For a time, my agents kept track of her movements. Then…”, Leliana trailed away, sighing.

“Then she vanished from the face of the earth. I kept track of her too. Now my best people can’t find her. She’s gone.” He said this without inflection, as though he very carefully kept all emotion at bay.

“Selkie!”, I heard Cullen hiss rebukingly, but I put a finger to my lips to shush him. This was important. I didn’t know why, but it was. I had to hear what came next.

“It doesn’t have to mean the worst, Alistair. She’s the most resourceful woman I know. If we can’t find her, perhaps it means she doesn’t want to be found.”

A pregnant pause followed, and within it I could practically feel the king disagreeing with her.

“I never asked you what happened.”, Leliana eventually said, her voice softening.

Alistair scoffed sarcastically. “My devastating romantic skills happened, what else?”

Another pause. I felt Cullen touch my arm, but I barely registered him. My ears strained after the conversation so hard I might have given myself a haemorrhage.

“Leliana, you know the story.”, the king grumbled then, no longer the jovial man I had met the day before. “The court ripped away at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. I asked her for time to change their minds, but… Something must have happened. Something awful she never told me about. One morning, she was gone. All her things, gone too. And a note on my nightstand, saying she had to leave so I could be free.”

Alistair stopped short, and an unspeakable anger radiated from beyond the door, buffeting me with divine fury. I flinched, allowing Cullen to steady me. A deep frown had crept to his brow.

“_Free_! To do what? Marry some harebrained woman my teyrns select for me and live in misery for the rest of my life? Maker’s balls, I was so angry at her.” His bitter laugh rang out into the stricken silence.

“Angry at the wrong person. Because in truth, this whole wreck was my fault. I dragged her into it. I convinced her to stay with me after I became king. What happened, Leliana, is that I screwed up.”

“I’m sorry, Alistair.”, Leliana said quietly. Sincerely.

“Not as sorry as I am. But… thank you.” After a brief silence, the king seemed to regain his composure, his tone turning business-like.

“Well, then. Let’s hear about that proposal of yours. Suddenly I feel in the mood of helping you hunt down some Venatori.”


	32. XXXII. Wrath of the Weaver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and still commenting on my chapters <3 <3 I love reading your comments!!   
This chapter is very long, but I didn't want to split it. It has a lot of action and conflict and developments! I really enjoyed writing these happenings from Cullen's POV. You'll see :D :D   
Btw, if you haven't seen the artworks I made yet, I link them once more here:   
**LotT Artworks:**   
[Selkie](https://i.imgur.com/79Ff4TI.jpg)  
[Cullen](https://i.imgur.com/8YwHGb0.jpg)
> 
> Have fun reading <3

### XXXII. Wrath of the Weaver

_The Vanguard_

* * *

Our audience with the king went much more smoothly than expected. After we told him the entire story about the Venatori attacks and our suspicions that the Red Dragon was behind them, he immediately agreed that the dangerous battleship needed to be stopped.

Alistair didn’t show any indication about the topic he and Leliana had discussed before they had joined us in the reception room, and proceeded to write out a royal decree for the shipwright we needed. He didn’t even summon a scribe to do it for him, but competently trickled wax onto the bottom of the decree and pressed his signet ring into it without further ado.

Selkie seemed attentive but subdued, likely still thinking about the conversation we had eavesdropped on. Leliana too looked thoughtful, while the king’s face stayed carefully impassive.

I hadn’t seen the Warden since she’d liberated Kinloch Hold from the abominations, freeing me from Uldred’s prison in the process. My memories of that time were… I didn’t like to dwell on it. When I had been stable enough to realize how horribly I had behaved towards a woman who’d shown me nothing but kindness and understanding, it had been far too little, far too late. I never saw her again.

Still, I took solace in knowing that she was out there in the world, continuing her good deeds, living beyond the death and destruction she had witnessed. For her to have vanished so suddenly… With the Wardens in shambles, with Corypheus poisoning their minds the way he did… What if she did succumb to the Calling? It was a very unsettling thought.

When the trouble with the Wardens had started, the Inquisition sent word to Alistair, since we were worried that he might be hearing the Calling as a former Grey Warden. He had answered that he did, indeed, hear it, but for some reason it was easier for him to block it from his mind.

As the others continued their talks, I wondered about Lady Amell leaving the king so abruptly. It didn’t seem right to me. I wouldn’t say that I knew her very well, yet I was sure that she would never have left him if she’d had another choice. She was loyal to a fault. But I couldn’t let my mind wander to such questions just now, when there were more important things to consider. Besides, their private affairs weren’t any of my business.

Alistair dispatched his fastest messenger to track down Roland Grant and present to him the royal decree. According to Leliana’s agents, the man still lived in West Hill, which wasn’t very far away, although it would still take a week at the very least until he arrived in Jader. We parted with the king on friendly terms, since he had to attend the continuing peace talks and we had to see to the preparation of our newly bought ship.

Leliana and I worked from our quarters in the palais, while we both alternated in accompanying Selkie down to the docks, where she oversaw the preliminary works on the _Queen’s Journey_. After the last disastrous visit to this city, I didn’t like putting Selkie out into the open so blatantly. There were too many unsavoury characters walking around the harbour area. I saw hooded figures slinking around in alleys, fierce men with tattooed faces staring grimly at our soldiers, as though they disdained the presence of an order-enforcing entity.

In this area, Selkie did not seem to share my unease. Either she felt perfectly safe with us, or she simply found safety in the proximity of the sea. Even so, I couldn’t shake the growing feeling of trepidation as the days went by, and then a week.

I was jolted from sleep each night when Selkie’s strange dreams made her thrash and shudder beside me. Not so very long ago, it had been me who’d woken violently, drenched in fear-sweat, the horrors clawing at my insides. I still dreamed, but in muted, dull pictures, much less pronounced than months ago.

A week after Alistair had sent out his messenger, we received news that Alec would finally return from the Emprise du Lion. He had stayed in the field longer than usually this time, even exchanging the members of his scouting party once. Typically, he stuck with his choices on those matters, but the reports we’d gotten spoke of the difficult situation he’d been faced with in the highlands.

The message told me and Leliana that Alec had managed to crush a big red templar operation in the Sahrnia quarry, and had even retaken Suledin Keep from the red templars. It was heartening news. But his homecoming meant another, more immediate thing. Leliana and I needed to return to Skyhold soon. The Inquisitor couldn’t arrive at his base with us being absent. I sighed as I read the report, bristling at the thought that I had to leave Selkie here.

Leliana, who sat across our makeshift workplace writing a message, looked up suddenly.

“I already sent for Cole and Dorian, Cullen. The Inquisitor signed off on it. He also writes that he wishes to accompany Selkie when she sets out in pursuit of the Red Dragon.”, she noted calmly.

“They have both gone mad.”, I grumbled.

Several times, I had tried to dissuade Selkie from the idea of putting herself up for bait. Naturally, my concerns had been ignored. I knew I was being irrational – we needed Selkie to even find the Red Dragon.

Although Alistair was relaying the entirety of his naval intelligence to us now, we only had a vague idea where to start looking. Selkie’s connection to the sea was our only hope. I still hated the idea. And now Alec wanted to throw himself into the mix as well.

“There is another thing that troubles me.”, Leliana said, bypassing my previous comment. “This report about Suledin Keep… I’m not diminishing the Inquisitor’s efforts, the battle against this Imshael creature sounded difficult. But… The numbers somehow don’t add up. There should have been more red templars stationed there.”

“I wondered about that too. Additional forces must have been sent elsewhere before Alec assaulted the keep.”, I mused, assuming the tactician’s viewpoint.

We were left with a lot of unanswered questions though, some of which only Alec would be able to clear up once we met up with him at Skyhold. And then there was still the matter of Blackwall’s arrest, another problem that needed our attention. We had located him in Val Royeaux, using our connections to have the Orlesians release him to us. But Alec still had to pass judgement on the ‘Grey Warden’.

It was with a heavy heart that I entered our bedroom after learning that I would have to leave Selkie soon. Dorian and Cole would be with her, I told myself. I trusted them to keep her safe while I was gone. What other choice did I really have?

Selkie sat in front of the delicately carved dresser, her silhouette painted in soft sunset hues filtering in through the open windows. The last dying light of the day framed her beautiful profile like a lovely painting. Her hands were sliding an ivory comb through her shining obsidian tresses, moving with delicate efficiency.

Arrested by the sight, I stopped in the doorway, feeling as if I had stepped into another world. A world where I was just a man, coming home to the woman he loved, basking in the simple joy of watching her comb her hair. Did I truly deserve this? Had I done enough?

And then she turned to look at me with a small, knowing smile quirking her lips, as if she had caught me doing something wicked. That sweet gesture made my impending departure all the more difficult. A shadow must have passed over my expression, since the humour fled Selkie’s eyes and was replaced by something more serious.

“You look troubled.”, she signed after setting aside her comb. “What is it?” There was no use tiptoeing around the issue.

“Alec is on his way back from the Lion. He’ll be at Skyhold in a few days.”

“You have to go back.”, Selkie deduced intuitively.

“For a time, yes.”, I confessed with a sigh. “With the news about the red templars and Blackwall’s trial… I don’t like the thought of leaving you, but…”

“But your duties cannot be shirked. I know.” As so often, she didn’t need an explanation. Nevertheless, I laid out the situation for her, assuring her that she would not be alone. Dorian and Cole were scheduled to arrive tomorrow. Selkie nodded solemnly to this.

“Don’t worry about me.”, she signed, putting on a brave face. I wasn’t sure how much of it was false bravado. “I will be fine. I know you will return as soon as you can.”

“I will.”, I promised. “Now… I believe you were in the process of combing your hair. Don’t stop on my account. Perhaps I’ll learn the mystery of how it stays so smooth all the time.” I caught a lock in my hand, twirling it around my forefinger. Selkie cocked her head sceptically.

“Really? I thought you were a great authority on all issues of hair.”, she signed with a cheeky smirk.

“What? This is how I always look. I don’t do anything –“, I countered indignantly. 

“Oh, and you get up half an hour earlier than me to… what? Polish your armour?” Her brows rose.

“To shave.”

“Nonsense. You hardly ever shave. And if you do shave, you do it with lightning speed.”, she argued, a clever gleam in her eye.

“Point taken.”, I murmured, leaning in to rub my jaw against her downy-soft cheek. She twitched and laughed silently. How I missed hearing her laugh.

“Show me. Please?”

In the end, I did cajole her into telling me her secret. I never would have guessed it. 

* * *

It was the dead of the night when a frantic rapping on the door mercilessly ripped me from sleep. I jerked awake, nearly dislodging Selkie from the bed. She startled so much that the pitcher on our nightstand overturned on its own, ejecting a splash of water onto the floor.

“Commander! I have urgent news!”, Guard-Captain Ainsley called without delay. I was out of bed before he’d finished the sentence, life-long instinct sharpening my senses within seconds.

“Inside.”, I barked, and Ainsley opened the door at once. It was a testimony to the man’s professionalism that he didn’t twitch a muscle at the sight of a wide-eyed, disoriented woman in his Commander’s bed. Selkie was slow to react. I was halfway into my armour before she had risen groggily from the bed.

“Ser, there is some sort of commotion at the docks. One of our men guarding the ship raised the alarm, but we haven’t heard from them since.”

“Commotion? Specifics, Ainsley. An ambush? Who attacks us?”

“I don’t know if this has anything to do with us, but… the horn signalled red templars, ser.”

I halted in the middle of attaching a shoulder-guard and stared at the man. His weathered features were grim. And honest.

“Are you sure?”, I demanded.

“Yes, Commander. Absolutely sure. Two long blasts, three short.”, he replied with determination.

“They must be insane, attacking the city in the middle of the peace talks when soldiers patrol everywhere. What in the Maker’s name is the meaning of this?”

I didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t receive one. By now, Selkie had galvanized into action, overcoming her shocked daze. She didn’t waste time on dressing, instead flung her knee-long jacket over her nightgown, following Ainsley and me out the room, her face tight and pale. Leliana met us in the solar, already up to speed on the events.

“We need to see what this is about.”, she said briskly as we all exited our quarters into the wide palais hallway.

Where we ran into King Alistair, who was in the middle of an argument with two other men. One wore the Theirin colours, likely a King’s Guard of higher rank. The other man’s gleaming silver armour and gaudy, feathered helmet marked him unmistakably as a chevalier.

I groaned inwardly. The last thing we needed was a diplomatic scandal because Ferelden and Orlais bickered over who should take the lead in hunting down some alleged red templars at the docks.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty –“, the chevalier began – and never finished.

“You know what, I’ll just stop you right there. That sentence never ends with something other than annoyance for me. Keep your due respects where the sun doesn’t shine and tell me why everyone is running around like scared chambermaids.”, Alistair ordered, an edge of authority underlying his sarcastic tone. The chevalier looked mortally offended, but he had enough sense not to disobey a king.

“Must have been those good-for-nothings from yesterday, Your Majesty. After we turned them away, they must have decided to vandalize around the docks.”, the man answered.

“Who?”, I cut in, my voice clipped. “My captain reports that red templars have been sighted at the docks.”

Behind me, Leliana was giving quiet orders to Ainsley to saddle our horses and gather our men. Selkie stood beside me, her expression blank.

“Commander. Just the man I wanted to see. Oh, by the way, this is Pierre de Matin, esteemed chevalier and captain of Empress Celene’s guard. Now, between us three, we can surely make sense of this? You say red templars are attacking the docks?”, Alistair frowned at me.

“My captain reported a raised alarm, and he is certain. I trust him completely.”, I confirmed, ignoring the disbelieving look Pierre the Matin threw me.

The king motioned for us to follow him as he strode purposefully down the hall. The King’s Guard at his side handed him the weapon we had brought as a gift, and he expertly strapped it around his waist without ever breaking his ground-eating stride.

Alistair had never been a monarch who was content with sitting back and letting others fight his battles for him. He was a skilled warrior and strategist, but it worried me that he intended to join a possible fight with us. If the king of Ferelden got injured – or worse – under my watch, I could go looking for a tree to hang myself from before the dawn came.

I looked behind me, catching sight of Selkie following us with nimble steps. Her features were tense with concentration, but her eyes were distant, as if she was trying to look into some faraway place.

“How could they have gotten into the city? Every single entrance is watched. And although I’d like to say this peacock here wears his armour for show, rumour has it that he knows what he is doing.”, Alistair murmured as we exited the palais into the wide courtyard. I threw a glance at Pierre, but apparently he was too busy seething to notice the king’s comment.

An Inquisition soldier stood ready waiting for us, holding the reins of several horses, Shadow among them. To my dismay, I saw that they’d saddled Selkie’s mount Gambit too.

“I don’t know how they got in, Your Majesty. But I intend to find out. The Inquisition soldiers will ride down to the docks with me so we can assess the situation –“

“I still say this is a misunderstanding. It’s those good-for-nothing pirates who harassed my men last night!”, Pierre burst out indignantly. Leliana, Selkie and I all stared at him.

“Pirates? You didn’t say that before. How do you know they were pirates?”, I asked very quietly.

“Because I am not a fool, that’s why. They looked like they’d lived in the gutter for months, all grizzled and dirty, and they wanted to ‘borrow’ one of Her Imperial Majesty’s ships for an ‘important errand’. As if we would –“

“Describe them. As closely as you can.”, Leliana suddenly interjected, while Alistair looked confused at the turn the conversation was taking. Pierre frowned momentarily.

“There were two men and a woman. One of the men – their leader, it seems – was tall, with a warrior’s build, but past his prime. He had a scar on his face, from eye to jaw.” From the periphery of my vision, I saw Selkie flinch as though she’d been knifed. She blanched so white she might as well have turned see-through.

“What is it?”, I addressed her, and when she didn’t react immediately, I grasped her shoulder, giving her a little shake. “Selkie?”

Her hands shook as she signed, eyes staring into dead space. “Father. He has a scar like that.”

For the space of a heartbeat, she went utterly still. Then, with a visible effort, she gathered herself to her full height, lifting her chin with fierce determination. I swear, I practically sensed the way she drew on some deep well of courage, steeling herself.

“We go now.”, she signed crisply.

Before either I or the others could react, Selkie started towards her horse. But the long, gauzy nightgown tangled around her legs and hindered any quick movements. She hissed out an annoyed breath, grabbing for the seam impatiently. And then she ripped the delicate fabric from shin to thigh. Just like that, no argument. 

“Sweet Maker!”, Alistair exclaimed, staring at Selkie’s bared white leg unabashedly.

Leliana looked like she was biting the inside of her mouth to keep from smirking. I briefly deliberated what the punishment would be for punching royalty, but Selkie wasted no time swinging herself up into Gambit’s saddle. With everyone still rendered speechless, she threw me a wild look and kicked her horse into motion.

“Selkie!”, I cried in panic, lunging for Shadow’s reins.

Around me, the others broke from their stupor and sprung to action. The dappled gelding was incredibly _fast_. Like a bolt of lightning, he’d galloped down the hill to the gates within the blink of an eye. I turned Shadow around, making him prance and roll his eyes, neighing nervously. Having mounted his own horse, Alistair pulled up to my side. I glanced between him and Selkie’s retreating form frantically.

“Your Majesty, you can’t –“

“Are you kidding me? What I can’t is to let a _small woman_ in a _nightgown_ lead a battle-charge! Teagan would never let me live that one down. Come on, time’s a wasting! To the docks!” 

I couldn’t argue with that, so I gave Shadow’s flank a forceful nudge, and we jumped into pursuit.

Selkie rode like a madwoman. She tore through the empty streets at a breakneck speed, the hoof-beats of her horse echoing back loudly from the walls.

Following her through the winding maze of alleys and cobbled paths was sheer nightmare. Several times, I lost sight of her as she rounded corners or even jumped Gambit down narrow stairs. I had no notion how she knew these shortcuts.

But my senses prickled with the constant magic flowing from her. She was weaving without pause. And soon enough, I saw the streaks of water summoned in her wake, gushing forth from wells we passed, slipping through window cracks and door gaps. A veritable flood followed her through the streets, nipping at Gambit’s heels. The water was the only reason why Alistair and I didn’t lose her during this insane chase.

Neither the other soldiers nor Leliana could keep up with the foolhardy pace Selkie was setting. She was so madly bent on reaching her father, she abandoned all sense of caution. I lost count of how often my heart skipped a beat from her crazy stunts on horseback. Pictures of her kept flashing before my eyes, lying on the cobblestones with her neck broken. Her recklessness made me both irrationally furious and awfully frightened.

After what felt like the most terrifying ride of my life, Alistair and I emerged from the convoluted market district onto the wide sloping path down to the docks. Both moons were high in the sky, illuminating the deserted fishmarket, outlining the giant silhouettes of ships anchored in the harbour.

I spotted several figures moving on the docks. Glowing red crystals and silver armour, the flash of steel. Distant screams of sailors running for their lives. Selkie was riding relentlessly towards the two red templars blocking the path ahead of her. I was too far away. Shadow’s neck already gleamed with sweat, his mouth foaming. I urged him along, and the faithful animal drew upon his reserves for a last burst of speed.

To my utter shock, Selkie suddenly reined Gambit in before she reached the red templars. With clattering hooves and a wild neigh, the dappled grey came to a jarring halt and reared, nearly throwing her off.

For the blink of an eye, I caught the expression on her face as she beheld the half-crystallized creatures standing in her way: Pure horror. What had she felt? I wondered fleetingly. What did the aura of a red templar look like? Her shock only lasted a few seconds though, but it was enough for the fiends to start advancing on her with their weapons drawn. I was still fifty feet away.

“_Selkie_!”, I yelled. “Snap out of it and _fight_!” Thank the Maker, she heeded me.

With a swift motion of her hand, Selkie let the torrent she’d gathered loose. It caught both templars at once, and the force of the blow smashed them into the empty fishmarket stalls. The wood shattered beneath the water’s pressure, raining splinters everywhere.

More enemies were converging, drawn by the ruckus Selkie’s attack had created. Two knights and a horror shambled towards her. I tried to ignore the prickling on my skin, the alluring hum of power coming from the red lyrium in their bodies. Hunger throbbed through my veins like a thing alive, and the hum swelled to a rising crescendo as I closed in. The song was within the beat of my heart, burrowing into me like a parasite.

It was Shadow who saved me from my sudden stupor. I had stopped guiding him with the reins. My trusted horse charged on his own, riding down one of the knights and trampling him beneath his mighty hooves. I jerked my head to clear the hazy thoughts.

My sword sliced at the second knight, but he parried the blow with inhuman swiftness. A second later, a wave of water hit the man and threw him off balance. I stabbed him in the chest, and he fell to the ground with a gurgle, blood welling from the wound.

As I wheeled Shadow around, I saw that Alistair had joined the fray. He was fighting the horror, but the blighted thing didn’t seem to feel any pain from the numerous gashes it had received. It kept slicing at the king’s legs, and Alistair had difficulty evading the strikes on his shying horse.

Selkie and I moved in at the same time. She summoned a small whirlpool around the horror, hindering its sight and movement, just when I brought down my sword on it from behind. The cut went through the curtain of rippling water, deep between the protruding lyrium crystals on its shoulder. The creature howled in fury, but Alistair was quick to react. He delivered the final blow. Our last enemy fell. For now.

“Thanks for the back-up.”, Alistair panted.

The end of the fight had granted us a bit of breathing room. I nodded at him, then tugged Shadow’s reins to turn towards Selkie. She looked like a wild thing, her hair untamed and free, her face fierce. Her horse’s flanks were splattered with blood, steaming in the cool night air. The torn flaps of her nightgown gaped open. I categorically refused to be distracted by the sight. Instead, I levelled her with the sternest stare I could manage.

“_Never_ do that again.”, I gritted through clenched teeth. 

She tossed her head, eyes glinting, expression mutinous.

“Cullen!”, Leliana’s voice caught my attention. She had arrived on the scene, with Ainsley, Pierre and our men in tow.

“These were mere guard posts.”, I clipped to Ainsley. “The main force must be further into the docks. Secure the perimeter, and have some men comb the fish-market for stragglers. Assemble a strike team for –“

I was cut short abruptly, because Selkie – _damn her_ – had kicked off again without warning.

“That woman is more than a handful.”, I heard Alistair murmur. There was something humorous in his tone.

“I’m going to throttle her when this is over.”, I snarled, kneeing Shadow to follow. “Ainsley, I leave you in charge. Leliana, handle this.”

Keeping my eyes fixed on Selkie’s back, I raced along the docks behind her, Alistair on my heels. I heard unintelligible shouts float across the water, unable to discern if they came from our enemies or their prey. We flew past the harbourmaster’s office, past the shipyard where our vessel was moored, past warehouses and shadowy shapes of ships looming like sleeping wooden beasts.

Red templars jumped out between the buildings, charged from behind hulls, to block our way. But Selkie summoned the sea against them. The waters rose in a violent flood, washing our foes away. She never slowed for a second.

Until we came to a long, wide pier at the very end of the harbour, reaching out into the moonlit waters. A small but formidable ship was docked on the far-right side, and the space in front of its sleek hull was the scene of a desperate battle. Two bedraggled figures were fighting against a considerably larger number of red templars, with a third one lying injured on the gangplank.

It must have been a messy skirmish. I could see pools of blood forming around several motionless bodies, hear the fierce clang of weapons reverberate through the stillness. They were hopelessly outmanned, their struggle futile, but the wiry woman and the grim-faced man wore identical snarls as they kept the red templars at bay. Even from a distance, I recognized the tall man’s battle stance when he executed a flawless counter-riposte. Only a templar moved like that.

It seemed impossible, unthinkable, but Selkie accelerated. I think if she’d been able to, she would have screamed a vicious battle-cry. But instead, thunderous hoof-beats alerted everyone on the pier to our approach. They all turned in unison, and I caught the expression of stunned shock on Matthias Cornwall’s face as he set sights on his daughter, riding in through the night like a vengeful spectre.

Suddenly she slowed, jumping from the saddle mid-run. Selkie ripped the sabre from its scabbard on Gambit’s back and pirouetted through the air with all the grace of an Antivan dancer. Out of nowhere, a violent wave whipped two enemies off their feet. They fell into the water, but her sabre-strike at the third one’s arm glanced off ineffectively. He lifted his sword, bringing it down on her.

I dismounted with my horse still in full motion. A roar ripped from my throat as I surged right into the thick of it, pushing past Selkie. My first slash cut the arm clean off the man who had advanced on her, and he fell back, howling. I wasted no time.

With battle-fury pumping through my veins, I attacked to push back the red templars, my sword slicing into their ranks again and again. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alistair had moved to protect my flank.

Matthias and the woman were crowded up onto the gangplank, but the assault from two fronts was thinning out our foes. They kept losing their footing from the splashes Selkie summoned, but the horrors were viciously persistent. Nothing seemed to throw them. One tried to lunge between me and Alistair to get to Selkie, but I tripped him and drove my blade into his back as he fell.

“Selkie!”, a deep, gravelly voice called suddenly. Matthias parried a sword-strike, and then reached into his pocket. A second later, he threw something glinting and shiny at us. A phylactery? I saw Selkie’s eyes jump to it with the precision of an eagle homing in on its prey.

She launched herself off the ground and into the air, her hand stretched out. The thing shattered as it flew, and I saw a streak of brilliant blue evaporate from it. As though someone had distilled every possible shade of the sky into liquid form. Suddenly I knew exactly what it was.

Everything happened too quickly to see it in detail, but an instant later, Selkie landed in front of me and Alistair. A wash of colour rippled across her crouched form, chased down her spine, along her arms. Pulses of unrestrained magic lapped against my senses.

She lifted her head, an audible breath leaving her lips. The sudden twist seemed to have stunned the red templars, but they quickly overcame their surprise, moving in. Selkie threw me a quick glance over her shoulder, her mouth pulling into a thin smile.

“No more running.” Her voice was soft, almost gentle.

From all sides of the pier, the sea rose. Our enemies never reached her. They never reached anything again. Torrents of salty, chilly water erupted beneath them, catapulting their bodies thirty feet high into the air. They floated there for a moment, like bizarre flailing puppets. Selkie swung out her arms in a vicious motion, and the water smashed every last red templar down onto the unyielding stone.

It was both horrifying and awe-striking to watch her power, unleashed in violence. The bodies lay on the ground, unmoving and lifeless – necks broken. The very few who survived the fall were quickly dealt with by our blades. At length, Alistair and I sheathed our swords. No more enemies remained, and I hoped Ainsley had caught any patrols left.

Selkie stood among the calming chaos, holding her head as if it pained her. Her chin was quivering, her breath uneven. I touched her shoulder very gently. She looked up at me, sorrow and revulsion in her eyes.

_What have I made of you?, _the dreadful question forced itself into my mind_. _If not for me…

“They were b-beyond help. I had to… to end it quickly.”, she whispered almost soundlessly, as if she had guessed my thoughts.

“I know.”

She turned to the trio we had rescued. Matthias was looking from Selkie to me with a scowl. He had striking grey eyes, untidy dark hair and weathered features, hewn to make him look rather forbidding. A prominent scar meandered from beneath his right eye down into the greying bristle of his beard. It wasn’t difficult to see how he had made himself a name as a man not to be crossed.

The woman – I suspected this was Kitten, who I had heard much about – supported the older, burly man as they came down the gangplank. Old Sam, I assumed from his shaggy hair and dark, deep-set eyes – he bore a striking resemblance to a sheepdog that way. While Kitten was long-limbed and olive-skinned, Sam had the ruddy, hardened countenance of a typical Kirkwall dockworker.

“Father!”

As Selkie approached Matthias, her movements were strangely aborted, as though she was caught between opposing courses of action. Her arms lifted, then jerked back, then lifted again. On the pier, Kitten released Sam and dropped her dagger, vaulting at Selkie with a cry of joy. The two women fell into each other’s arms, dissolving into a blend of laughter and sobs. Old Sam joined them, limping on one leg. His brawny, tattooed arm encircled the two, nearly lifting them both off their feet.

“Little sprite! How, by the Maker’s hairy balls, did you end up here?!”

It took some time until the elation of their reunion died down, but I noted with interest that Matthias stayed subdued. Eventually, Selkie extricated herself and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She was crying. Matthias lifted one hand to give her an awkward little pat on the back.

“I thought you were dead.”, I heard her muffled voice, followed by a sniff.

“We were captured by the Vints.” Matthias seemed clearly uncomfortable with female tears, judging by the way he shifted on the spot. “It took us a long time to escape.”

Selkie pulled back, wiping her eyes. “How did you manage to get my voice?”

Matthias didn’t reply, instead he levelled Alistair and me with a suspicious look. Selkie seemed to realize the situation then, and a wash of colour rose to her cheeks.

“I… I forgot to introduce you. This is my f-father, Matthias Cornwall.”, she stammered, forgetting that she should have introduced the king first. “Father, these are –“

“I know who they are.”, Matthias interrupted. “Your Majesty.” He paid his respects to Alistair with something that was not quite a full bow, and not quite a mere nod either. Me, he acknowledged with nothing more than a glance.

“Knight-Captain.”, he said curtly. I bristled at his thinly veiled hostility.

“Father…” Selkie’s tone had acquired an angry edge.

“Ser Cornwall.” I nevertheless bowed before Matthias, but I wouldn’t allow myself to be cowed by him. “Or rather… Knight-Captain Cane. I think we can agree that we both left those titles behind.”

Selkie gasped at my bluntness. Matthias’ lip curled, showing a row of perfectly straight teeth. Anger flashed in his eyes, making the grey in them turn to honed steel. I stood my ground, glaring back at him. Alistair shifted uneasily to my right, his gaze bouncing around between the three of us.

“Is it just me, or did this pier suddenly get a great deal frostier?”

Kitten looked apprehensive, Old Sam grimly serious. Selkie fidgeted with her sleeves, avoiding our eyes. The silence lengthened, but I would be damned if I broke it first. Aside from the fact that we had just saved his hide (and he didn’t seem to grasp the concept of gratitude), I didn’t have much love lost for Cornwall. It had nothing to do with his desertion, and everything to do with the fact that he didn’t strike me as a very good father.

“So we’ll just keep glowering menacingly. Good, good. Great. This isn’t uncomfortable at all.”, the king murmured. “Anyway, Lady Selkie… You recovered your voice! That’s great, isn’t it?”

His attempts at defusing the situation were thoughtful, but ultimately futile. Selkie ignored him, addressing her father.

“They kept me safe all this time. I trust them.” Her tone betrayed a certain mulish disposition I had only witnessed in short glimpses until now. Cornwall sighed and sheathed his sword.

“I suppose I should thank you for the assistance.” However, he didn’t extend a hand to shake, nor did he make any other concession to needing to be rescued.

“No matter.”, Alistair said quickly. “Well, now that that’s settled, we should probably check on the rest of the men. Hopefully they cleared out the remaining reds.”

We collected our tired horses and made our way back along the docks in silence, on the lookout for further attacks from the shadows. But none came. A few of my soldiers patrolled the piers and alleys vigilantly now, saluting me when we passed. At the border to the market district, Leliana and Ainsley stood waiting for us, flanked by Pierre and the King’s Guard.

“All threats have been neutralized, Commander.”, Ainsley reported dutifully. “It appears that they entered through a cellar complex beneath one of the warehouses. They swarmed out from there, but we guard the entrance now.”

“This explains the lightened resistance at Suledin Keep.”, Leliana interjected, displaying no surprise at the appearance of three dishevelled pirates at our side, Matthias among them. She nodded to Selkie with a slight smile.

“That was the place where we escaped from.”, Matthias said suddenly. “They chased us through half of Orlais.”

“Well, it is all beginning to make sense then. I am glad your father is alive and well, Selkie.”

“Thank you, Leliana.”

Leliana startled at the sound of Selkie’s voice.

“Just got it back. For good, this time.”

The spymaster looked from me to Selkie. “Report properly.”, she bade us. 

“I wish to speak to my daughter in private. And Sam’s wounds need to be seen to.”, Matthias interrupted tersely. “We have rented lodgings at Nelson’s Folly. You may call on her there. Later.”

Leliana showed no indication that the command-like tone had offended her, but her eyes turned shrewd.

“We’ll send one of our Inquisition healers to help.”, she said politely, gesturing to Ainsley, who nodded.

For an instant, Matthias looked as if he would refuse, while Selkie’s mouth pulled downward in an expression of displeasure. She threw me an apologetic glance. Not wanting to incite the anger of her father further, I didn’t reach out to touch her as I wanted to.

“I’ll see to everything here, and find you later.”, I told her reassuringly instead. Nelson’s Folly was close to our position, only one street away. As they departed with many a backwards glance, I signalled a few of my men to follow them and stand guard. 

* * *

The dim light of not-yet-dawn suffused the streets when Leliana and I made our way to Nelson’s Folly. It had taken some time to sort the whole red templar disaster out properly. Alistair had left his King’s Guard to keep the order and watch for other attacks, before he had returned to the palais.

I had posted additional sentries all around the harbour district and doubled the patrols, although Leliana was quite convinced that we had stomped out the red templar incursion. Alec had made sure that there would be no reinforcements from Suledin Keep.

As we climbed the steps to the first floor of the tavern, I was revisited by a sense of deja-vu, as the Orlesians called it. It hadn’t been so long ago that my life had hung in the balance within these very walls, and Selkie had saved it at great risk to herself. The circumstances now seemed in great contrast to the assassin attack.

Raised voices were coming from beyond the door to the master suite, causing Leliana and me to halt.

“I am not going to abandon them!” Selkie emancipated herself hotly. I had never heard her sound so angry and hurt.

“You have trusted them too easily. Telling that man my real name! Have you gone mad, child? Have I taught you nothing?!”, Mattias countered, just as furious.

“You have taught me _lies_! And I’m not a child!” There was a noise of glass breaking, followed by a string of curses and unintelligible words.

This did not bode well. This did not bode well at all. It seemed we had arrived just in time to witness a terrible argument. My tattoo, which had been itching something fierce ever since the battle, felt sore now, a burning sensation going from my wrist to my shoulder. Agitated. That’s how it felt. The fabric too tight and chafing. I fought the urge to tear off my arm-guard and the sleeve of my tunic. Leliana gave me a sideways look that was somewhere between pity and worry.

“Are you sure you want to go in there?”, she asked.

“Not in the slightest. But I must. I can’t leave her to deal with this alone.”, I replied quietly as the muffled shouting resumed.

“It’s your funeral.”, Leliana observed mildly. “But I think it’s best if I don’t come with you. I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Are you leaving because you want to avoid an uncomfortable situation, or because you don’t want to intrude?”

“Yes.”, she simply said, turning on her heel. “Good luck.”

When she was gone, I sighed and lifted my hand, delivering a decisive knock to the door.

“Leave!”

“Come in!”

Well, this was off to a good start. I entered into the master suite, a room I was quite familiar with. A part of me wished I could be lying unconscious on the bed, because the atmosphere inside felt charged to the point of being explosive. Matthias and Selkie stood facing each other, both of them fuming.

Cornwall glared at my intrusion, while Selkie’s stance lost some of its overstrung tension. The restless agitation in her hands stilled, and with a few light steps, she had closed the distance between us. Taken by surprise, I caught her in my arms, readjusting her so the hard steel of my breastplate wouldn’t cause her discomfort.

“I didn’t even have time to ask if you were hurt! Everything happened so fast… It was so confusing –”, she managed worriedly, the anger at her father seemingly forgotten. I smoothed a hand down her back, not missing the stunned look on Matthias’ face. He stared at his daughter as if she was a manner of creature he had never seen before.

“I wasn’t hurt, love.”, I murmured soothingly. To my credit, I didn’t go as far as to kiss her, because I feared that Matthias might actually punch me for it. I didn’t want to destroy my chances of gaining the man’s respect entirely.

“Ser.”, I addressed him in a neutral tone. “I came to inform you that as far as we are concerned, all of your pursuers have been dealt with. You are out of danger now, at least from the red templars.”

For a long moment, his eyes pierced me, taking my measure.

“Good.”, he said flatly. Another silence.

“So, _templar_. I heard a few things about you. You are Inquisition now, are you?”

“He is Commander, father.” Selkie spoke before I could reply. “And as I told you, he and the others protected me since the day the Tidedancer sank. The Inquisition became my home when I thought you were all dead. I trust Cullen with my life.”

“Does protecting you mean letting you charge head-on into a dozen armed aberrations?”

She made an exasperated sound. “That was all on me. I acted recklessly because I wanted to save you. And you know very well that you needed the help. Please, father. If nothing else, then trust _me_.”

Matthias let out a breath, visibly mastering his temper.

“We shall see.” He turned to me again. “Selkie told me about Ariu and the plan to rescue him. As I understand it, you have a ship in the yard, and my shipwright on the way here to make adjustments to it. I don’t know how you managed to convince Roland to help you.”

“We assumed that a royal decree from the king would make him forget the treasure squabble between you.”

For the first time, Cornwall’s harsh features showed the barest hint of amusement.

“Is that what you told him, Selkie? A _treasure_ squabble. I suppose one could call it that. I refused to give Roland’s son a certain treasure, because I didn’t think the foolish pup worthy of it. He did not take it well.” He bestowed his daughter with a long, meaningful look. She blushed and turned aside, self-conscious. Understanding hit me.

“I see.”, I said softly, wondering at the back of my mind what exactly _would _make a man worthy in his eyes. I had known him for less than a few hours, but I already sensed that he set very high standards for the people around him, and did not tolerate failure.

Surreptitiously, I scratched my lower arm to alleviate the tingling itch on my tattoo. It was worst at the spot where the strap of my arm-guard bit into the skin. I might have attached it too tightly when I’d strapped into my armour in a hurry.

“And who will captain this ship?”, Matthias asked at length. The question baffled me.

“Selkie, of course.”

Now it was the other two’s turn to look stunned.

“What?!” Selkie seemed dazed. “But… I can’t – my father – he has much more experience!”

I dipped my head solemnly. “Perhaps. You should make him your second, then. First mate, I believe it is called. But _you_ will be captain.”

Looking at Matthias, I added: “With all due respect, ser, I don’t doubt your expertise as a ship captain. But I don’t know you very well. This decision has been made by me and the other Inquisition advisors. It was approved by the Inquisitor. I shall not change it now.”

“I didn’t say you should.”, the former captain said quietly, a queer expression on his face. It might have been my imagination, but the hostility buffeting me from his direction seemed less pronounced for a moment.

“Alec approved this…?”, Selkie murmured incredulously.

“He did. He also said to get you a very impressive hat. I haven’t gotten around to procure one, yet.”

“I don’t need a hat.”, she replied in a dubious voice.

“When does Roland arrive?”, Matthias questioned. 

“We have a meeting with him at the shipyard, scheduled for tomorrow at noon.”, I answered, not really conscious of what I said. I’d finally managed to loosen my arm-guard with the fidgeting, and pushed up my sleeve, too distracted by the itch to pay attention. What a relief –

“_What_ is that?!”, Matthias exclaimed furiously. Selkie flinched.

“It’s nothing.“ She threw me a pleading glance. “Stop it, please –“

“That is a tattoo. And somehow I doubt it’s sailor’s inking. Selkie, what did you do?!”

I realized that I hadn’t seen the bulk of his anger until now. The sight of my tattoo set him off like a short fuse, and he exploded on us with all the force of a dry powder keg.

“_You did the ritual_! With _him_!”, he yelled without reservation now. “Not only is he no weaver, no mage, but a _templar_ – who stood at Stannard’s side as she became almost too powerful to stop!”

Selkie was beyond fury. Even in our only argument, she had kept a measure of control. But no longer. Like a ship under full sail, she charged between Matthias and me, her temper bursting from her unchecked.

“I’m sick of your twisted half-truths! I heeded you and kept your secret, and for what?! They didn’t even care! You were a templar, and so what? You are so tangled up in your mistrust and grudge that you are blind to everything else! Stop living in the past, father – Aye, I did the ritual. Because Cullen almost died protecting me from the Venatori, in this very room! How is _that_ for trust?!”

Matthias looked taken aback by her fierce defense. I doubted she had ever stood up to him in such a way. When he didn’t offer resistance, Selkie continued her tirade.

“And another thing! I won’t be treated like a child anymore. I won’t hide. I won’t abandon anyone, and I _will. Not. Run_. So Maker help me, stop banging your head against the wall and accept things as they are, or I swear I will lock you up below deck for the entire trip!”, she screeched, her hand slicing the air violently. A water jug on the table burst apart.

“I’m _leaving_.”, Selkie declared into the laden silence, breathing heavily. She shuddered and seethed with anger, for once unable to balance herself.

“Tomorrow, at noon. The shipyard.”

Then she whirled around and ripped open the door, slamming it behind her as she left.

Matthias and I stood there, both of us gazing at the place where she had vanished. When I faced him again, he was looking at me with disbelief.

“I have no idea who that woman was. What did you do to my daughter?” He almost sounded amazed. Or horrified. Both, maybe.

I sighed. “Respectfully, ser… I did nothing _to_ her.” This wasn’t exactly true, because I had done a lot of things to her. But he _really_ didn’t need to know about that. I taxed him, holding his piercing eyes. The next thing I said was completely true.

“I love her.”

Matthias said nothing. He kept staring at me speculatively.

“Although I have to admit, the display just now was a first for me, as well.”

He exhaled a breath fraught with meaning. “You don’t deserve her.”, Cornwall stated, blunt as a face-punch. I was inclined to agree, but he went on before I could reply. And now his voice held a strangely rueful tint.

“But she always had a soft heart. Open for undeserving creatures. So much of Ariu in her…”

Features softening just the tiniest bit, he trailed away, gazing into the distance. His hand – un-gloved and scattered with small, criss-crossing scars – went to toy with a simple golden band around his right ring-finger. I don’t know if he was even aware of the gesture, or how much it revealed about him. Then the moment passed, and Matthias came back to himself. His attention settled on me again.

“I don’t like you.”, he informed me laconically. Funnily enough, this declaration made me smile.

“I am gathering that, ser. But it won’t stop me from trying to change your mind.”

Something flared in his grey eyes. Not anger, nor disdain. But not quite respect, either. It was rather like a predator sizing up one of his kind.

“Try, then.” With those words, he turned away, dismissing me. I left, feeling strangely like I had just fought my second battle of the day. Only with this one, I had no idea if I had won. 


	33. XXXIII. A Changing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is a, eh, NSFW explicit scene in this chapter (below the line-break). *coughs* I let my imagination run wild with me. But hey, there's a lot of serious story stuff after this, so I had to throw in something sexy >.<  
By the way, I plan 47 chapters max for the main story (and one epilogue). Can't believe this is already this long... o_O  
Have fun reading!

### XXXIII. A Changing Time

The Weaver

* * *

I was still seething furiously when I arrived in our palais quarters. The rooms lay silent and still, a strange contrast to the tumultuous excitement of this night. I rushed into the bedroom and didn’t stop until I had burst out onto the wide balcony. Bracing both hands on the cold stone balustrade, I tried to breathe through the violent vortex of emotions within me. The sun was about to rise in the East, slowly chasing away the last twinkling stars in the lightening sky.

Matthias was alive, and he was his old obstinate self. He still treated everyone and everything with deep distrust, and me like I was eight years old. Nothing had truly changed, and yet everything had changed. Captain. I was to be captain. Would Matthias even follow my orders? I wondered sardonically. He’d commanded the Tidedancer for over two decades. I imagined giving _him_ an order, and had to hold back a bitter laugh at the strange irony of it all.

And then there had been the killing. Seeing red templars in the flesh for the first time. They were horrifying creatures. _Wrong_ on so many levels. I remembered how their life-force had thrashed in helpless agony as they were being eaten alive by the blighted crystals in their veins. They were all screaming inside. Death was a mercy for them. And yet… I had not ended their lives just out of mercy.

I looked at my hands, unmarred and clean. There is an awful rush of power in killing. A sense of supremacy that you feel even if you deny it. It repulsed me. I didn’t want it. Who could ever take joy from this? I felt soiled, tainted, and yet I knew that there had been no other way. No return from the madness for them. No healing for their souls. The only relief could be sending them to the depths.

When I thought of the possibility that Cullen could have become one of those creatures… I began hyperventilating, trembling like a leaf. The red templars scared me just as much as fire ever had. In a way, it was worse, because I could see the human inside them being devoured. I wanted to vomit.

After some time, Leliana and Cullen returned. I caught their voices through the bedroom door, which I’d left ajar in my fury.

“Do you think Cornwall will cooperate with us? From what you told me, it doesn’t sound like the two of you have come to an agreement.”.

“He has little choice, if he wants to be on the ship to rescue Ariu. He may be stubborn, but he isn’t stupid.”, Cullen said calmly. It was silent for a moment.

“Are you still up for our return to Skyhold tomorrow, Cullen? You weren’t happy with it to begin with, but with these new developments… I can practically feel your reluctance.”, Leliana mused. 

“I’m even less happy now, but we must. We need to smooth the chevaliers’ ruffled feathers after Blackwall’s release, and complete his trial. Besides… It might be best if I remove myself from the old templar’s crosshairs for a while, until he comes to terms with the situation. He almost burst a blood vessel when he saw my tattoo.”

Of course he did, I thought bitterly. The ritual of balance had never been performed on a non-weaver. It was our most intimate practice.

“I can imagine. Perhaps he will be placated when he meets Roland tomorrow. Or rather today, since the sun will rise soon.”, Leliana said.

“About that…”, Cullen began, then paused for a moment. When he resumed, his voice sounded speculative. “Surely you vetted Roland before we sent for him. Did you know…”

“Did I know that the shipwright asked Cornwall for a match between his son and Selkie? Of course I did. Cornwall refused outright. Apparently, the son is a rather diffident fellow.”, Leliana replied evenly. Diffident. What a word to describe Gregory Grant. He was nice, a shy sort. And boring.

“You might have mentioned that when you debriefed me.”

Leliana scoffed. “Whyever would I? There is little of note about the boy. He’s done nothing interesting at all. Not even a juvenile brawl – which every young lad does at least once in his life.”

“Do they?”, Cullen wondered.

“Come on, Cullen. I know for a fact that you and Branson got into the occasional scuffle back in the day.”

“I’m not testifying to that. Now, excuse me.”

“The two of you should get some rest while you can. I’ll be sure to fetch you in time for the meeting.”

* * *

I heard Cullen’s quiet assent to this, and then the soft click of the door closing as he entered our bedroom. Turning to him, I watched as he removed his gloves and began unfastening the clasps of his armour. His shoulders rolled in relief when he shed the heavy metal, moving on to the straps of his arm-guard.

He didn’t speak while performing this task. Cullen was not a man who tried to fill every silence with needless chatter. It was one of the things I loved about him. When I saw the difficulty he was having with a particularly tight strap, I went to him. Taking care with his tattooed skin, I loosened the leather band while he stayed still, gazing down at me.

“You bound this too firmly.”, I muttered. My fingers rubbed gently over the sore place at the bend of his elbow. He caught my chin with his free hand, tilting my face up so I would look at him. His eyes burned like a banked fire. Now that we were alone, the feelings he’d been holding back flared up.

“You frightened me half to death today, Selkie.” Uh-oh. The use of my name told me he meant business. “I have never seen anyone ride like that. Your father is right. I shouldn’t have let you charge into the fight. It’s a miracle that you haven’t been hurt.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but his fingers tightened a little, warning me to stay silent.

“No, I talk now.”, Cullen said tersely. “Ever since the assassin’s attack, you’ve been becoming more reckless. Don’t misunderstand me, I am glad that you are finding your mettle. But what you did today was foolish, verging on insane. You were very, very lucky that Alistair and I managed to drive back the enemy, and that you didn’t get cut down before we arrived. It could have ended differently.”

“But my father –“

“Your father is a trained templar and a capable warrior. He was holding his own against them. The risk you took could have cost you your life. Do you have any idea what that thought does to me? I lose my focus. I can’t stay calm. I think only about keeping you safe, and not the other things I need to be aware of. When you take such risks, you weaken us.”

His eyes held mine, intense and sharp. I swallowed hard, then gave a tiny nod. Some of the tension on his features seemed to ease.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again. And for the future – on the field of battle, you obey my orders. Because I have the experience. Everywhere else, you can do as you wish. Yes?” 

“Yes. Alright.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing over my cheek.

“Promise me.”, he murmured, his voice much warmer now than before.

I let my hands rest on his chest. He smelled intense, wild… primal, somehow. As if a restless energy moved within him, a vital force that wanted to break free. Alerted to the change, my senses sharpened. Even with all our civility, we are creatures of instinct. 

“I promise.”, I whispered, not quite evenly.

“Good.”, Cullen said, letting go of my chin. Suddenly, he grasped a handful of locks at my nape and tugged. I was forced to tip my head back, my spine arching into a bow. For a split second, I thought I would fall, but his arm wound firmly around my waist, supporting me. His gaze dropped to the exposed column of my throat, then roamed lower, to my breasts.

I was still wearing the nightgown I’d so thoughtlessly torn – it had been very impractical for a chase on horseback. His pupils widened, leaving only a thin band of muted gold to frame them.

“Void… Just looking at you like this makes me hard.”, Cullen breathed heatedly. I could feel it. The length of his hardness pressing aggressively to my lower stomach. Branding me.

“I used to be a decent man before I met you. Now… I won’t even pretend anymore.”

Anger still tinted his voice, which had roughened as he’d begun breathing more rapidly. He was angry about my recklessness. About making him so afraid today. I watched the faint wash of colour suffuse his sun-kissed skin, watched the shape of his strong neck, revealed by the open collar of his shirt. He still had me bent backwards, displayed for his view, my breasts pushed up to his chest. My nipples were already hard and tight.

“Cullen…” Squirming, I stretched towards him, but he held me locked in place.

I gave a soft mewl, a plea. “Kiss me.”

“Where?”, the wicked man asked.

“Anywhere!”, I gasped. Cullen smiled in a way that made my knees weak. Then his head dipped down, and his parted lips pressed to my throat. His tongue flattened to my leaping pulse. He _bit_ me, not entirely gently. I yelped, clutching at his shirt, scrabbling for purchase. He licked his way down, traced my collarbone to the top of my breasts, where he was thwarted by thin gauze.

“You taste like the wild ocean in a storm.”, he groaned.

I snapped out of my sensual haze when his hands suddenly gripped the fabric of my nightgown.

“No! This is my only –“

There was a loud tearing sound as he ripped the thing from collar to navel. I was too stunned to be shocked. He pushed both the gown and my jacket over my shoulders, but while the jacket fell away, the nightgown bunched around my hips. Nude from the waist up, I instinctively backed away one step.

“It was already ruined.” Cullen followed me, something dark and predatory flashing in his eyes. He wanted the chase. Savoured it. With a careless motion, he tore off his shirt, throwing it aside. Next, he attacked the falls of his breeches. And when he was completely naked, his skin gleaming like an antique coin in the dim semi-darkness of dawn, he came at me. He didn’t give me time to marvel at his powerful physique.

In a matter of seconds, I was crowded against the bed, the back of my knees hitting the edge. I tumbled backwards onto the mattress. Cool silk touched my spine, causing me to arch away from the sudden shock. He climbed above me like a large feline on the prowl, his hands warm and impatient as he filled his palms with my breasts. Lifted them to his mouth, teased the tight peaks with his tongue, nibbled at them, rubbed his rough cheek against the soft flesh.

He breathed on the moistened spots, a blend of hot and cold that sent sparks through my veins. My thighs fell open, fingers dancing over the firm quilting of muscle and sinew on his back. I tried to pull him above me, tilting my hips to welcome him. He kissed my mouth, a wild battle of tongues and teeth. But then he pulled away suddenly.

“No.”, he clipped. “Not like this. Not tonight.”

I stared at him, speechless and half-maddened by desire. Did he mean to stop? Now? Was he insane? He straightened, stunning me with a view of his bare chest, his toned abdomen, and… the length of his rigid shaft, rising from a nest of dark golden hair. Just as I reached to touch it, to feel the hot, velvet skin, Cullen grasped my hips and flipped me to my stomach.

“What –“, I huffed into the silken sheets, but he raised me to my knees with one hand, hiked up the tatters of my ruined nightgown. A brusque tug, and he had removed my knickers, nudging my legs apart with his thigh. I felt exposed. Open. Vulnerable. And he went even further, his fingers delving into my most intimate place, parting the sensitive folds. He ran his thumb over my opening, spread the wetness in slow circles, pushed inside my heat.

I heard his shallow breaths, the sound of satisfaction he made when I bucked upwards. This position had something wickedly thrilling. At the same time, I was completely at his mercy like this. He could do whatever he wanted. The thought chased a shiver down my spine, and my hands clenched into the sheets. Anticipation mingled with a touch of anxiety.

“Relax, sweetheart. Don’t struggle for it.”, Cullen rumbled behind me, his voice rough. “You can take me like this. All of me. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.” He smoothed his hand over the flesh of my bare bottom, up my back and down again. His fingers left trails of fire on my inked skin, until I sighed in pleasure.

Then he took a firm hold of the bunched fabric around my hips, and I felt the tip of his cock nudge against my entrance. He was mindful of his size, not plunging in all at once. Instead, he entered me inch by agonizing inch. I felt it in his trembling thighs how much restraint this exacted from him.

He was large. And this position allowed him to go deep. Impossibly deep. It didn’t seem to end. I was filled with him, my channel stretching to accommodate his length. My breaths came in short pants against the silk sheets, and I bit down on a fold to keep from crying out at the fullness of his possession. Cullen cursed above me.

“Maker’s – damn. _Fuck_.” He was barely articulate. When he bottomed out, his hips met my backside. For an instant, he went utterly motionless. “How can you – still be so damn tight?”

I whimpered at his first cautious thrust. He retreated almost entirely, then pushed back inside to the root.

“Am I hurting you, love? Tell me. Tell me and I – I’ll stop.” He didn’t sound very convinced that he would be able to stop. I didn’t want him to. It had been uncomfortable at first, too much, too deep. But now all I felt was him inside me, his mad need, how much he wanted me. And the thin, tenuous thread leashing the wild creature in him. It wanted out.

“No.”, I managed, my voice muffled and frayed. “Don’t… don’t stop.”

My words cut his restraint to ribbons.

“Anything. Anything for you.” He started moving in earnest then. Long, lazy strokes at first, taking his time, drawing out his own pleasure. Driving home again and again, stilling for just a heartbeat when he was deepest. It was torture. It was like racing towards something perfect, something _vital_, and being pulled back right before reaching the finish line.

I wiggled, lifting my backside to meet his thrusts. More, I wanted to tell him. Faster. Harder. I might have uttered the words out loud, or perhaps whined them without shame, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I needed more.

“Yes.”, he growled as if in answer. “Do you feel that? Do you feel how hard I am, how mad for you? I just… I –“

“Please!”, I begged, but it came out as an incoherent whimper. Suddenly, he changed the angle. Bracing my hip with one hand, his pace quickened, and he surged into me with a devastating urgency. His fingers curled around my nape, holding me imprisoned against the mattress. I wondered what he looked like – mounted over me, hips pumping, muscles rippling, skin glistening from the exertion.

He took me in abandoned, forceful thrusts, as if he wanted to punish me, but oh, how I gloried in his feral lust. How I burned. His earthy smell, the sounds he made. His body, all savage power and male strength. His show of dominance. It was animal and uncivilized. Raw and edgy. I loved every last part of it. And he was right. I didn’t need to struggle. It soared towards me on its own, out of nowhere. Too soon, too soon.

With my face pressed into the sheets, feverish and mindless with desire, filled entirely by his cock, I came. Like a blazing comet burning out in a last brilliant nova. My cry got swallowed by the covers, every high-strung nerve firing at once. I shuddered all over, sobs crowding in my throat. While the tremors of ecstasy simply overwhelmed me, they took Cullen by surprise. His movements stuttered. He seated himself deep, deep inside, then stilled.

“Maker, Selkie.”, he choked out. “Oh, Maker.”

A long, drawn-out moan signalled his own climax. He held me tight against him, his grip almost bruising. I felt his shaft pulse violently, pumping out his release in hot surges. It seemed to go on forever. His body shook and shook, like a storm-tossed ship buffeted by fierce gales.

Then all air left him in a rush, and he slumped forward, catching himself awkwardly with one hand. He dropped his forehead to my shoulder, struggling to calm his breaths. The hot gusts tickling my oversensitive skin made me clench around him involuntarily. Cullen jolted, letting out a pained sound.

Carefully, he retreated from my swollen flesh. I went limp, collapsing bonelessly onto the mattress, spent. I barely registered him moving stealthily through the room. He returned a moment later to wipe me down with a damp towel, cleaning the sweat from my skin and the evidence of our wild lovemaking between my legs.

I sighed contentedly, not really caring about anything just now. A languid bliss still suffused me, weighing my limbs. Moving was way too demanding. Besides, I was being taken care of so well. Cullen gently slid the covers out from under me and climbed into bed. He arranged me so I lay half on top of him, my hair spilling over his chest.

“Have I shocked you?”, he queried quietly, sounding almost a bit abashed. I smiled a lazy smile.

“Aye.” It was the truth, after all. I waited just long enough to watch his face fall, then said: “And I loved it.”

He laughed. “After the chaos tonight… I think we both needed to let off some steam. Perhaps I was too forceful –“

“You were exactly the right amount of forceful. I keep telling you – you worry too much.”, I murmured, exhaling a breath. Cullen was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his words were hesitant, chosen with care.

“Are you sure you will be alright while I am gone? Your voice was returned to you, but… I have never seen you angry like you were with your father today. I have never seen your magic in such a display, either.”

“I will have to manage. Matthias has an uncanny talent for inciting my temper. It’s… We will make peace, eventually.”, I said after a while. “As for the red templars… I had to succeed at _something_, Cullen. I hate the fact that I never knew _both_ my fathers were still alive. Never had a hunch. A feeling. Anything. My intuition failed me. Some waterweaver, I am. And I hate that we need to jump through hoops, and wait around, and… While Ariu…” 

His arm around my shoulder tightened, pressing me against him. His warmth. His steadiness.

“Ssh. Hush.”, he whispered. “This night has taken much from you. Try to rest, sweetheart.”

I yawned sleepily. “Aye, it was exhausting… I don’t know what I want more – sleep or a bath.”

“Mmm.”, Cullen agreed. “How about falling asleep while taking a bath?”

“Ooh, and don’t forget food. Falling asleep during a bath while eating a huge cake.”

“How very efficient of you, my sorceress.” He wound a few strands of my hair around his hand, rubbing them against his cheek. A low hum built in his chest, almost like a purr, vibrating through me. I fell asleep in less than a minute, his heart beating evenly beneath my ear. 

* * *

Only seconds later, it seemed, Leliana woke us. She cared very little about privacy, striding into the room and announcing that Dorian and Cole had arrived in the wee hours of the morning while we had slept. Or done other things. Then, with a neutrally appraising look at a bare-chested Cullen, she ordered us to dress and left again.

“There is no end to her prying, is there?”, Cullen grumbled as he rose from the bed. I groaned, stretching to alleviate the soreness in my muscles.

“You didn’t lock the door.” My accusation was undermined by the clumsy struggle to heave myself up.

After a few quick morning rituals, we dressed in a hurry and joined the others in the solar. We exchanged short updates on the recent happenings, before we left the palais to make our way down to the docks. The sun was already high in the sky, overshadowed by only a few wispy clouds. The streets seemed less crowded by folk, but vigilant soldiers patrolled everywhere – a clear sign of tightened security in the city.

“So, how did your father manage to get your voice?”, Leliana asked as we rode along the cobbled streets in a measured pace.

“It’s a long story.”, I began. During our way down to the meeting, I told them what my father had told me the day before.

After the destruction of the Tidedancer, Matthias had been fished from the sea by the Red Dragon Venatori, together with Kitten and Old Sam. They were interrogated on my whereabouts by a Venatori Magister named Claudio, although it had taken some time until they’d learned his true name. Most of his underlings called him ‘The Seeker’. Of course the Venatori learned nothing from my father and his crew. What remained of Claudio’s landing party (which wasn’t much, since I had unwittingly done away with most of them) returned without me, but instead the terrified underling carried a strangely glowing crystal phylactery. My father knew it was important. What he didn’t know was that Claudio had also captured Ariu. The Magister was clever. He kept my fathers separated.

Matthias was tied to the Dragon’s foremast, exposed to harsh conditions and constant ridicule with very little food and water to keep him sustained. Since Claudio frequently disappeared below deck for hours on end, my father suspected that he had other prisoners. He began planning his escape. When the Red Dragon anchored near Amaranthine, and some of the Venatori left the ship for an assignment, he took his chances. He managed to kill two of the guards with a makeshift garrotte, broke into Claudio’s stateroom and retrieved his sword.

After this daring manoeuvre, Matthias freed Old Sam and Kitten, who had been held in the brig. But here, he also learned that Ariu was on board. In an empty cell, he found the pendant and the wooden horse. My father didn’t elaborate on this part, but I could read between the lines. I suspected that Claudio was already applying daily attention to make Ariu talk, or worse. Matthias attempted to break him free, but they were overwhelmed by the Venatori and had to flee with little more than the clothes on their backs.

Their hardships didn’t end there, though. They managed to get as far as the rocky shores north of Denerim, where they entrenched themselves in an abandoned fishing shack. They never stood a chance against the forces Claudio sent after them. Facing capture yet again, my father hid the bundle of possessions beneath a floorboard, where it would later be found by Leliana’s agents.

This time, the three of them were not brought back to the Red Dragon. Instead, Claudio’s lieutenant had them travel West, on a long and arduous journey through Ferelden. The men taunted my father that he would receive a great gift very soon, a fitting new occupation ‘as a reward’ for his escape attempt. At the border to Orlais, the Venatori joined up with red templars. Matthias, Kitten and Old Sam were carted all the way to Suledin Keep. 

I could make little sense of this strange turn of plans from Claudio – until my father explained that the lieutenant carried the phylactery with my voice. There was a man at Suledin Keep who was very proficient at creating enchanted artefacts of unique design.

After being held prisoner at the keep for long weeks, my father faced a horrible fate: Being force-fed red lyrium so he would turn into one of the mindless husks fighting for Samson. I think it was this thought that gave him enough strength to break free once more. There were rumours that the Inquisition was on the advance against Suledin Keep.

The laboratory was vacated, and the enchanting savant whisked away to safety by the red templars. In all the commotion, my father, Kitten and Old Sam – by now battered, half-starved and desperate – escaped. It was a stroke of luck that they came through the abandoned laboratory, and an even bigger stroke of luck that the phylactery with my voice had been left behind there.

The rest of the story involved a wild flight across Orlais as Matthias and his little party fled the pursuing red templars. His intention was to find a ship and try to rescue Ariu himself, although I had no idea how he would have managed to pull off such a feat.

“He never knew that the Inquisition had me. Your doing, I suspect?”, I ended my retelling of the tale with a glance at Leliana.

“I’m good at what I do. I have to be.”, she replied realistically. “The only reason the assassin found you was because she had that replica of the phylactery. And, well… You were out in the open.” 

“Your father’s tale also clears up one of the biggest questions we had until now – where all those unique weapons had come from. I believe this enchanting savant made every single one on Samson’s and Claudio’s orders. I also believe I know who he is. Maddox, the man for whom Samson smuggled the love letters.”, Cullen interjected, his expression darkening.

“The man who was made Tranquil?”, I asked, remembering the story.

“Yes. After he was made Tranquil, he turned into an outright genius with enchanting. He made things nobody else managed to create. The disruption grenades, the phylactery replica, the harlequin’s poison… Even the red lyrium armour Alec heard rumours about… All his creations. It makes so much more sense now.”

“I have another piece of the puzzle. The Magister who leads these Venatori – Claudio.”, Dorian hissed out. “I think he is Claudio Lorantus. I know him from back at the academy in Minrathous. He always talked about bringing back Tevinter’s ‘glory days’. No wonder he ran into Corypheus’ arms like a child to their mother’s bosom.”

“What can you tell us about him?” 

“Other than the fact that he’s the human equivalent of a vile, diseased gutter rat? We never spoke directly. But there were rumours that he was obsessed with the Disciples… The Seeker. Really?”, Dorian scoffed.

“No doubt he chose that ridiculous title for himself. Always had delusions of grandeur, the man. He was a right sinister character… The slaves he bought kept ‘mysteriously disappearing’. Fasta vass! I should have investigated him. Void take my ignorance.” His handsome face screwed up in anger and regret.

“Not your fault, Dorian.”, I tried to placate him gently, but he merely sighed. I knew he didn’t agree with me.

I was silent for a moment. Then a thought came to me. “I wonder why the red templars and Maddox left my voice behind at Suledin Keep…”

“I wonder why they stole it in the first place. Was it truly to track you down later? Or for some other purpose? Everything is possible with Claudio… He’s clever and ruthless.”, Dorian mused.

“All I know is what my gut tells me. This still feels like a trap.”, Leliana said grimly.

I was inclined to agree with her more and more. We rode on in silence while I brooded over the things my father had told me. It did all seem a bit too convenient. Had they really escaped… or had they deliberately been allowed to go free? What goal would that even serve?

_Leave silence behind, and face your fears_… A shudder went through me as I remembered the words. I had left silence behind. Was this, too, about me? Was I somehow unconsciously fulfilling this eerie incantation? My sane mind had difficulties believing that someone would go through all this trouble just to chase a myth. And yet for a moment, I was suffused with a deep, almost disturbing certainty. My hand let go of the reins. As I glanced at it, I could almost see the thread of my fate sliding along my palm, and hear a voice from deep within whisper its assent. _We will follow it to whatever end._

“Are you alright?”, Cullen asked, ripping me from my unsettling thoughts. I flinched, catching the reins in both hands again.

“A-aye. I was just… thinking.”

Our conversation came to an abrupt end when we arrived at the shipyard, where the _Queen’s Journey_ rose imposingly before us, her snow-white sails neatly rolled-up. The dark wood of her streamlined hull gleamed in the sunlight. The sight of this beautiful vessel chased away my gloomy trepidation, and I marvelled at the artistry that had gone into every part of her.

Her figurehead, a winged woman with her arms stretched out behind her, had her face tipped up to the skies as if soaking up the warmth and light. Her life-like countenance had something serene, long hair streaming over her spread wings. The wood carver had crafted her to look like she was revelling in the swift wind of her journeys. I stood beside Gambit, simply staring. I had seen the ship often since we had procured her, but it felt different, to know that this would be mine to command.

“You picked a fine ship.”, my father’s voice caught my attention.

It seemed he had inspected the vessel until now, since he was striding down the gangplank. Roland stood in front of the hull, taking notes in a small leather-bound tome.

Greetings and introductions were exchanged, before we moved on to matters of business. Although my father kept a rather civil tone for his standards, the conversation still felt uncomfortable, charged with an undercurrent of tension between Matthias and Cullen. Leliana, Cole and Dorian picked up on it too, but refrained from commenting.

Thankfully, Roland was oblivious to the mood and declared his willingness to make the necessary changes on the ship (for a handsome fee, of course). It seemed the royal decree had truly made him move past his disagreement with my father. Or he might have been a bit spiteful that Matthias had been demoted to First Mate now, and I had become the captain he had to deal with.

We hashed out a deal he was comfortable with, and set a timeframe for the completion of his changes. Roland ordered several workers to be hired, gave out lists for materials and tools he needed, and then went merrily about a detailed survey of the hull.

Old Sam, whose leg was bandaged but who looked otherwise unharmed, wrapped a burly arm around my shoulders while the others finished their talks.

“Some scuffle last night, aye? We barely made it here, by the skin of our teeth. The old man was in a right huff after you showed up. What’s with the bonny buck, sprite? Couldn’t you at least find a man with some sea-legs on him? Ain’t fishin’ him out if he falls in, is all I’m saying. Ain’t holding his pretty hair when he starts vomiting up his guts, either.”

“Sam…”, I protested, choking a little as he squeezed me affectionately. “Lay off him, will you?”

He gave a gritty laugh. “Ah, don’t be like that. A cursed time we had of it, little one. I missed you.” He let go of me then, but not without tousling my hair into a mess. I smoothed it back surreptitiously, glancing at Cullen. A slight, amused smile seemed to play around his lips. 

Inevitably, the time for departure came when all important issues had been discussed, no matter how much I tried to draw out the negotiations. Cullen and Leliana had already packed their horses for the journey back to Skyhold, and as the afternoon sun made its path across the horizon, it became clear that I was out of time. A small group of soldiers had arrived at the docks, waiting patiently for their superiors to join the party.

“We should be on our way as long as we have a few hours of daylight left.”, Leliana remarked eventually. I took her hand into mine, squeezing it.

“Thank you for everything.”, I said feelingly. Her answering smile was warm.

“I’ll send news as soon as I can. My agents will ferret out anything about this Magister who hunts you. And then you’ll beat him at his own game.” She sounded so convinced, I nodded instinctively. Bowing graciously to the others, Leliana mounted her horse in one swift motion. With a heavy heart, I faced Cullen. Although his expression betrayed nothing, his aura was worried, bristling against what he had to do like a young colt yanking back at its reins.

“I could accompany you to the city gates, at least.”, I suggested hopefully, heart sinking when he shook his head.

“I would like that, but it’s not a good idea. Despite our best efforts, the commotion yesterday caused a stir. You are still pursued. For your own safety, you should limit the chances of being caught out in the open as much as possible while… until I return.”, he answered, sounding regretful. As he leaned down to me, I felt several prying pairs of eyes boring into my back. Cullen seemed to notice them too, because he cast a nervous kind of glance behind me.

“Stay safe, sweetheart.”, he murmured softly above my ear. “Stick to Dorian and Cole, and your father. Write letters this time – you know how anxious I get. If you need help, send the swiftest raven, and go to the king. I’ll return as soon as possible.”

“Please do.”, I whispered as I reached to embrace him, but he pulled away. Looking rather conflicted for an instant, he brushed a chaste kiss to my forehead and straightened. A moment later, he had swung himself into Shadow’s saddle. I frowned.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my father, Sam and even Roland watching the scene with undue interest. Of course. I’d never get a proper farewell with so many spectators. I glared at them, before throwing Dorian a pleading look. He reacted at once. With a sudden exclamation, he turned to the sea, pointing his finger and yelling theatrically:

“Look! It’s a golden dragon!”

I didn’t believe for a second that his stereotypical idea would work but - everyone whirled around. Without hesitation, I took two steps towards Shadow, lifting my foot and planting it on top of Cullen’s armoured boot in the stirrups. I grabbed hold of his arm and leveraged myself up. It was a precarious act of balance, but he instinctively caught me around the waist, his face utterly startled. I kissed him passionately, a much too brief farewell, but it was all the more intense for it. His mouth was warm and surprised and bittersweet. 

“The fuck? The Vint’s gone mad. There ain’t no drago – Oh.”, I heard Sam’s voice fall abruptly silent just as I found the resolve to let go of Cullen. Someone cleared their throat indignantly. Someone else snickered.

“I’ll miss you.”, I whispered. Then I stepped down to the ground again, backing away a little. Colour had risen to Cullen’s cheeks, and he coughed once before he managed to gather himself.

His voice only sounded slightly off when he bid his farewells to the rest of the group.

“Keep her safe.”, he said to Cole and Dorian. To Matthias – who was now glowering holes into him – Cullen gave a respectful bow from horseback. But he didn’t quite meet my father’s eyes. With a last look at me, he kicked Shadow into motion and joined Leliana and the waiting soldiers.

I watched the winding road for long after their silhouettes had disappeared, feeling neither sad nor dejected, but curiously _hollow_. As though he had taken most of me with him. I didn’t know how much time had passed when I finally took a deep breath and turned back to the others. Gathering my courage, I squared my shoulders.

“Let’s make a ship worthy of songs.”


	34. XXXIV. A Rose Among Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for the many kudos and the lovely comments <3  
So without spoiling things, here's a new chapter! I'm getting closer to the journey, slowly revealing things. And don't worry, Cullen will be back soon!

### XXXIV. A Rose Among Thorns

_The Weaver_

* * *

I had dreamed again. By now, I could almost anticipate the unfamiliar images I saw, pieces of a life I had never lived, yet somehow I was pulled into it, deeper each night. I woke into the dim sitting room, groping to remember what I’d seen. I had walked a wide, wide corridor, its ceiling reaching impossibly high. Grand paintings on the walls, rich, thick rugs beneath my bare feet.

And a voice, echoing through the empty vestibules like the tinkling of wind chimes. It had been a lullaby, almost… familiar. Sung with a love that could drown oceans. Why did the memory make my lungs ache with every breath? What was this sadness, rooting deep into my bones?

“It isn’t yours.”, Cole spoke quietly from the shadows. I caught sight of him, perched on one of the plush armchairs, his pale face illuminated only by the light of the dying embers in the fireplace. I’d taken to sleeping on the salon settees, refusing to crawl into that giant bed without Cullen by my side. Sitting up, I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes.

“The sadness… it’s hers. She doesn’t know that she calls you every night, but you go anyway. The rose weeps in the dark for a future forever lost. A day edged with red, sharp like a dagger to the heart, and a secret locked away behind golden doors.”

Wrapping the blanket tighter around my shoulders, I sighed and mulled over this newest Cole-ish enigma.

“The rose… The woman I saw imprisoned with Ariu. You mean to say that we share dreams, even… emotions? How is that possible? She must be so far away from us…”, I wondered. Cole tilted his head at me curiously.

“There is no distance when you dream. She thinks “Be near” and then you are. You slip over with just a thought.”

“But why me?”, I asked helplessly.

“I’m not sure. In the Fade, spirits want to be near people who are like them. I like it here, where everyone helps both sides to heal. Maybe it’s the same for people? You are alike, and that’s why she calls to you, and you follow.”, Cole explained, his voice gentle. I let out an exhausted breath.

“I just wish I knew what all of this means… There is something important about these dreams. But I never have any control in them, I can’t make things happen the way Solas taught me. I’m always just an observer, a ghostly witness.”

“That’s because it’s not your dream. It would be different if it were your dream.” I thought about his comment for a time.

If the mysterious woman could pull me into her dreams, could I pull her into mine? Could I attempt to speak to her? After that horrible vision of the prison, I had tried to reach Ariu, put I had never been able to find him again. However he had done it, he’d shuttered himself from me, possibly forever. But it seemed that I might have a way to reach the woman who shared his cell. Tomorrow night, I would try.

Drained but still quite awake, I stretched out on the settee again. “I don’t think I can sleep now.”

Cole slid out of his armchair and came over, gracefully lowering to sit cross-legged on the ground beside me.

“We can talk if you like.”, he said softly.

I let my hand rest on the upholstery, palm up. We hadn’t done this since Cullen and I had started to spend our nights together. But before that, Cole had often kept me company when I’d lain awake in my tavern room, staring at the ceiling, lonely and sleepless. Now Cole only hesitated for an instant, then cautiously fitted his own hand into mine. It was warm. Alive.

His qai had changed after he had become more human. There were more facets to him now, falling into pattern around that singularly focused node at the centre. My friend had grown so much. He had always been beautiful to me, but now there was a balance to him, a peaceful co-existence of the spirit he was and the human he aspired to be. Cole smiled at my thoughts, his fingers curling around mine.

“I missed you.”, I whispered.

“Me, too.”, he answered just as quietly. I closed my eyes to rest them, stifling a tiny yawn.

“You worry about many things. Keeping us safe. Destroying the enemy. Saving your family. But there is something else, too. An old fear. Shaped from fire and darkness.”

I sighed, inwardly grumbling at his insight. “I’ve been having nightmares about fire since I was little. It’s just something that happens.”, I deflected. Such strategies never worked with Cole, though.

“They are coming closer now. Something draws them.”, he remarked ominously. I didn’t know who _they _were, but I knew I wanted to change the subject.

“Did you see anything interesting today?”, I wondered, deliberately forgoing a reply. He seemed to think for a minute.

“The king’s crown has a crack no one can see. He doesn’t want to think about it, but it’s there, always there, that gap where a piece is missing. It was the most precious piece.”, Cole said, sounding rueful.

“I saw it too.” I shouldn’t have looked, but I had. Sometimes the gift of seeing qai was a great curse.

“I don’t think we can help him.”, my spirit friend sighed.

I knew he was right, but it still made me unhappy. The king had been nice to me, forthcoming with his aid. Although we’d only had a few interactions, it felt like I’d known him for a longer time. I liked Alistair. But that didn’t mean I should be sticking my nose into his private affairs. To see other people’s auras meant knowing more about them than they would probably share willingly. Even though I had an inexplicable urge to help him, I couldn’t. It was frustrating.

Pushing aside the gloomy thoughts, I let my mind wander to Cullen. What would be going on at Skyhold right now? Was it a clear night there, with stars twinkling down? The sky there always seemed so close, as though one might reach up and touch the very heavens. I missed the view from my tavern room, and the clear mountain air. I even missed the damn hole in Cullen’s roof.

Was he able to sleep peacefully, or had his nightmares returned? He’d been much calmer these past weeks. I drifted off holding Cole’s hand, hoping that my dreams would stay my own at least for tonight. 

* * *

My anger at my father’s behaviour still kept me from speaking to him directly during the daily inspection at the shipyard. Roland showed me the changes he was making to the hull, his special technique of smoothing the wood and adding fine grooves that would allow me to pull the ship more efficiently.

Matthias stood on deck, watching us with a distant expression on his stern features. His aura stayed carefully blank. I knew I couldn’t put off talking to him forever, especially since Roland told me the ship would be ready within the week.

“Fathers, right?”, Dorian murmured beside me as he caught the timbre of my mood. “They are supposed to mellow with age. Well, I sure can’t attest to that. Some stay obstinate fools for all their lives.”

I said nothing, but apparently Cole had an opinion he wanted to share. “He is hard on the outside. He doesn’t really know how to push the words past the wall.” My only answer to that was a sigh. When I turned to leave, though, Matthias called out to me.

“Selkie. A moment.” He walked the gangplank to join us on the docks, his posture wary. He glanced at Dorian and Cole, clearly distrustful of their presence.

“Aye, Father?”, I acknowledged coolly, but not without respect. Keeping a generous distance between us, he came to a halt and surveyed me pervasively.

“We will soon be ready for departure. Are you still bent on having the Inquisition travelling with us?”, Matthias queried.

“This is their ship, bought with their coin. Roland came because of the royal decree the Inquisition helped me to procure. And it will be their warriors who will help us against the Venatori. So aye, they will come with us.”, I answered in exasperation. My father stayed unfazed.

“It’s your prerogative as captain to choose the crew.”, he said with the hint of something odd in his voice. I couldn’t discern what it was, but it soothed my anger at him a little.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Father. We have a difficult journey ahead of us. Ariu’s life depends on our success. We shouldn’t be at odds with each other.”, I attempted to mend the rift between us. My father gazed down at me, his grey eyes pensive while his chiselled features remained as inscrutable as ever.

“No, we shouldn’t.”, he continued at length. “So, you and a templar. Of all the men to choose from…”

“_Commander_.”, I corrected tonelessly. “I didn’t choose Cullen to spite you, you know. I didn’t choose at all! It just… happened. He’s…” I trailed away, embarrassed to be talking to Matthias about my feelings for Cullen. With Ariu, it would have been different. He’d understand.

“Look, just give him a chance. Try to be… nice to him?”

“Nice. You want me to be… nice.” My father’s brow lifted in a picture of scepticism. “Why did he leave you here, unprotected?”, he grumbled then. 

“I’m hardly unprotected. I have a dozen guards and besides, my friends are always with me. They are all the protection I need.” My voice held a distinct edge.

“Indeed.”, Dorian cut in genially. “We guard the Princess while her Prince is gone. Although after what she did to the red templars, I am quite certain she can take care of herself if the need arises.”

Matthias seemed to think this over. “I guess I can agree to reserve my judgement for now. But I don’t know that I have ever tried being _nice_.” The word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“Amenable, then. Or less hostile, if that sounds better to you.”, I proposed hopefully. 

A sigh, followed by a frown. “I will think about it.”, my father declared before he took his leave.

I watched his retreating form with contradicting feelings. He was too old to change. Not that he’d ever been any kind of flexible, but I think by now he was so set in his ways, he simply didn’t know anything else. I wanted to feel hurt, furious, resentful, as I had so often during my adolescence.

Instead, I only felt disappointment. I had to accept that, no matter how much I wished it, he couldn’t be anyone else than who he was. I had idolized him, had aspired to emulate his strength, to make him proud of me, to meet his impossible expectations. But that isn’t how it works, right? Love cannot be bargained or negotiated for. It isn’t something you gain by struggling for it. I knew that now. 

“Maker only knows how Cullen puts up with him. The man’s glower could scare the horns off a Qunari.”, Dorian mumbled when we made our way up to the palais. I couldn’t hold back a half-bitter, half-sincere laugh at his comment.

* * *

Late that evening I told Dorian and Cole about my plan to “contact” the mystery woman from my dreams. Although Dorian seemed a bit wary of my idea, they both agreed to watch me while I slept. Solas might have known exactly how to go about this endeavour, but since he wasn’t here, I had to improvise.

“Any advice?”, I asked as I lay down on the wide settee I used as a bed. Dorian crossed his arms, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

“I suppose these dreams all have a personal touch. Perhaps your best bet is to try and dream of something personal to you, but… with our mysterious stranger placed into it?”, he mused.

“Yes.”, Cole agreed. “Put her into your own place.”

“But I don’t even know what she looks like.”, I protested.

“You don’t have to. A face is just a face. The Fade doesn’t need a face to know a person.”

“You can use your memory of her aura to call her.”, Dorian supplied. I sighed out a breath, centering myself.

“Alright. I will try.”, I said quietly.

“We will watch over you.”, Cole assured me, his voice already fading.

I didn’t know why it was so easy to slip off into sleep. Perhaps Solas’ lessons had paid off after all, or perhaps I was already attuned to dreaming with a heightened awareness through the many involuntary “journeys” I’d undergone these last weeks.

The world of dreamers shimmered around me, diffuse shadows and shapes waiting to coalesce into form. It took several attempts to persuade my dream into the right scenery. Something personal. What was personal to me? A place that held special meaning? The Tidedancer came to mind, but too much grief and pain was connected to it now.

No. My new home instead. Skyhold. My tavern room at Herald’s Rest? No… that sanctuary was a little too personal. Ah. The gardens where I had often relaxed after my messenger runs. Where I’d watched Cullen and Dorian trade taunts during their chess games. Where the Satinalia feast had come to a punch-drunk, sweet ending.

It was the time of dawn in my dream, the sky lightening above with the last fading stars still visible on the washed-out pink horizon. I sat on the edge of the well, and imagined a cluster of thorny shrubs, with a white rose growing in their midst. This was how her aura had appeared to me. A rose among thorns. I held that image, calling out in my mind, beckoning her to come to me.

For a while, I simply sat there, waiting. Poised. Focused. When I almost thought I had failed, I suddenly felt the tiny hairs on my nape stand to an end. And I knew I wasn’t alone anymore.

She stood beneath the shadow of an aspen tree. Her silhouette flickered unsteadily for a moment, sharpening as she stepped forth into the soft sunrise. Silvery-blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her beautiful heart-shaped face.

She had brilliant, expressive eyes – a shade almost close to lilac. I saw in them an echo of the long path she had walked, the many things she had seen. In some way I cannot describe, she was like Alec – a great junction from where countless choices striated out. A crossroads of fate.

“Who are you?”, the woman spoke in a clear, musical voice. “Why did you call me here?” I slid to my feet.

“Because you have also called me into your dreams many times now. We are connected, although I don’t understand how or why. I am Selkie Cornwall. My father Ariu is imprisoned with you.”, I explained cautiously. Astonishment flooded her face.

“It was you. I felt someone looking into my dreams…”, she trailed away, and I took the moment to examine her a bit more closely.

She wore a long flowing robe of royal blue that fit her slender build perfectly. Stunning embroidery ran rampant from the high collar down to the seam at her feet, and she held herself with a quiet dignity, proudly upright. She looked… she looked like a queen. The only thing she lacked was a crown. I was momentarily arrested by the odd thought. 

“Wynne always said I dreamed too loudly. ‘You’re spilling over like a boiling kettle’, she used to rebuke me.”, she said distractedly, smiling as if to a private joke.

“Is my father still alive?” My voice trembled as I asked the first and most important question on my mind. The woman met my gaze, nodding slowly. But her eyes were apprehensive.

“Yes, he lives. But I don’t know how much time he has left. He grows weaker each day.”, she said apologetically.

“I am coming to rescue him. Both of you, as fast as I can. The Inquisition is with me.”, I assured with a confidence I didn’t quite feel I had.

“The Inquisition… Yes, I remember you saying that. So, this is Skyhold then?”, the woman let her attention wander over our surroundings with a keen interest. “It reminds me of the palace gardens in Denerim.”

“_Who_ are you?”, I blurted, unable to bear the suspense of not knowing. A shadow passed over her face at the question, and suddenly her fine features were a picture of bitterness.

“I wonder if I know anymore. I left so much of myself behind… But what choice did I have?” I waited for her to find her line of thought again, although a nervous anticipation inside me made patience impossible.

“I was given grand titles, but they are meaningless to me now. Now I am just Roslyn. Roslyn Amell. Rose, to my friends.”

I think she couldn’t have shocked me more if she had declared that she was Andraste herself, come down from the Maker’s side for a casual stroll through the Fade.

“You’re… the Hero of Ferelden.”, I stated dumbly. “The _Hero_. Of _Ferelden_. Andraste’s lily-white ass!” Nothing but one of Varric’s choicest curses could express my sentiments over this situation. 

Roslyn Amell – the blasted _Hero of Ferelden_ – looked at me with wide eyes. But I was too busy raking my hands through my hair because I just couldn’t _believe_ it. All the implications crashed down on me. Leliana and Alistair had found no trace of her because she’d been captured by the Venatori.

And then I realized – not in one conversation about her had anyone ever spoken her first name. Cullen had called her Lady Amell. Or simply the Hero of Ferelden. Otherwise, I might have made the connection: Roslyn, Rose for short – the rose from my dreams. It hadn’t been some enigmatic symbolism, but her _literal _name! Or perhaps both things. Shit. Not even the king had referred to her by her first name. Maybe _especially_ not him. Wait –

“The king! He’s looking for you!”, I exclaimed. “I have to tell him that it’s _you_ imprisoned with Ariu.”

Roslyn’s astounded expression was replaced by a blank look, but her eyes gave her away. Sorrow, loneliness, regret, all bleeding into each other. 

“I should have known… You said we are connected, you and I. And these past days, I felt… I almost felt his presence, as if just barely out of reach. He is close to you, isn’t he?”, Roslyn continued eventually.

“Aye, I am at Jader, where diplomatic talks between Alistair and Empress Celene are taking place. The king helped me in my endeavour to rescue Ariu. But once I tell him that I found you – I think he will want to come along to rescue you.” To my astonishment, she smiled faintly in answer.

“My love has never quite understood that a king shouldn’t go around doing all manner of dangerous tasks himself. Still so stubborn… Insistent.”, Roslyn sighed, bowing close to the rose I had conjured within my dream. I watched her unblemished profile sceptically.

“Your love? But… you left him.” Void take my stupid tongue. I should have stayed mute. She looked up at me, her eyes softening with sadness.

“It is much more complicated than you might think, Lady of the Tides.” I was taken aback by the strange title she’d given me. Where had it come from? Had Ariu told her something about me? Had she made her own assumptions? Or was this how I appeared to her in the Fade? I didn’t get a chance to ask her, because Roslyn went on after a moment.

“It’s strange… I feel like I know you. Ariu told me so many stories, I should have recognized you at once… But there is more to it. This connection, this sharing of dreams and memories…” She frowned in concentration, as though trying to remember something.

“Ariu doesn’t want me to find him, he thinks he is protecting me. But I am tired of running. I’m tired of being prey! Please, Roslyn. Tell me how to find you. Tell me where they have taken you.”, I begged her.

“I wish I could.”, she said regretfully. “But the truth is I don’t really know much. What I do know is that they followed me for weeks as I journeyed to Ostagar once more on my search for a cure to the Calling. I planned to follow a lead deep within the Kocari Wilds. Several times, I managed to shake off my pursuers.

I even took the Brecilian Passage back north, intending to circle back around towards Denerim… I have been through those woods before, I thought I could lose them in the maze of ancient trees. But they caught me.

From there… my memories are hazier, jumbled. We travelled, to the shore. They loaded me onto a ship with black sails. We were at sea, but… I don’t know for how long. Ariu was in the cell next to me, below deck.

When we anchored, they blindfolded us. I think we are on an island, though. Every window I managed to look through shows me the sea. I hear gulls call, and the men talk about shipment runs to keep them supplied.”

An island… The sea around them. Ariu should have been able to weave them out of there. He had never been strong in that side of our magic, always far more proficient at the spiritual part. But still, he should have…

“My father. He can… he can control water. Didn’t he try to break you both free? On the sea, or even after?”, I asked, my voice trembling. Roslyn avoided my gaze.

“I can’t be sure, because he wouldn’t tell me much but… They tortured him. The more they did it, the more his magic seemed to turn inward. I’m a healer. I tried to help him… Tried to mend the things I could. But he wouldn’t let me help with his magic. He said it was for the best if he became unable to weave. Whatever they tried to do to him, they failed.”

As the terrific tale reached through my numb thoughts, I sank to my knees in the grass beside the well. My father couldn’t weave anymore. They had taken it from him. Brutalized him until his powers had withered. The fury that rose within me then was like bitter bile in my stomach. They would pay.

“Ariu never gave in. The failures made them angry. The madman holding all the strings… He calls himself the Seeker. He likes… experimenting on his subjects. If you do manage to get to us… kill that one first. Cut off the viper’s head.”, Roslyn hissed, her voice gone cold and vicious. But only an instant later, she flinched and cast her gaze frantically around our surroundings. Her silhouette flickered dangerously, as though it might disappear at any second.

“What do they want with you, Roslyn? Why capture you at all?” It didn’t really make sense to me.

“Before they got to me, I found a way… A way to slow the Darkspawn Taint in me. Suspend it, so to say. Curing it entirely is almost impossible. Only one person was ever cured, and she had been… a special case. At first, I thought… That the Venatori wanted to find out how I’d done it.” She paused, cocking her head as if she’d heard a noise.

“But I’m not so sure anymore. All they do is take blood from me and –” Roslyn broke off suddenly.

“He is coming. He can’t find out about our connection. Be wary, Selkie. That man is evil, and he wants you, wants you so badly he’ll do anything. Obsession burns in his eyes. But I dare not – not even in our thoughts. I must leave.”, Roslyn whispered anxiously, her eyes fearful.

“Wait! Can we meet again?! Will you watch over Ariu?”, I cried out my questions, panicked. She focused on me, already fading, becoming transparent in front of my eyes, like a ghostly image.

“We’ll find each other again in our dreams. I will protect him as best as I can.”

“What should I tell Alistair? I need proof!”, I tried desperately to keep her with me for a bit longer. I needed to know more. I had already learned so much, and still not the whole picture. 

“If you must, then tell him… I still have the rose. And that I’m sorry. I have failed him.”, Roslyn said softly, so softly I almost did not hear it. And then she was gone from my dream, shifting away into nothingness.

A moment later, I resurfaced into the waking world with a start. Dorian and Cole hovered above, looking at me with troubled expressions. I sat bolt upright on the settee, breathing to calm the wild race of my heart.

“I have to speak to King Alistair.”, were the first words out of my mouth.

“What? Now? Why?”, Dorian asked, astonished.

“You found his Rose!”, Cole stated, his pale eyes wide. Dorian cocked a brow in befuddlement.

I explained what I had learned in the dream while I pulled on my boots and at least tamed my hair into some semblance of order.

With Cole on our heels, we hurried along the hallways, right up to the gilded double doors marking the Alistair’s lodgings. Two King’s Guard flanked the entrance, motionless like suits of armour. Only the surprised looks visible through their helmet slits showed any deviation from their stillness. I rushed in without preamble.

“I must speak to His Majesty at once. It’s very important.” The guards exchanged a glance.

“I am sorry, mistress. You will have to wait until the morning and request an audience. His Majesty is abed after a long and arduous day of negotiations.”, one answered.

“Excuse my bluntness, but it can’t wait. I have news he must hear. Now.”, I attempted to imitate Cullen’s most imperious tone, infusing my voice with authority.

They seemed briefly halted by my words, then the one on the right shook his head resolutely. I levelled them with a calculating stare. Glancing behind me, I found that Cole had vanished and Dorian was winking. The next moment, there was a loud crash from the shadows down the hallway. The guards startled.

“What was that? Go investigate.”, Right said, motioning to Left. “I swear this place is haunted.”, he murmured under his breath. When Left had disappeared into the darkness, there was another crash and a yelp.

“Maker’s Breath, what is it with tonight?”, Right groaned, before he pierced me with a glare. “You stay right where you are.” Apparently, I was less of a threat than whatever he suspected down the hallway.

“I hope Cole didn’t kill the fellow.”, Dorian murmured, gazing at the guard’s retreating back. “That would be a terrible mess to explain to the king.”

“Of course not. They’ll be fine.”, I assured, sensing both guards’ auras alive and well. Just a little less conscious than they wanted to be.

Wasting no time, I pushed down the doorhandle and was relieved to find it unlocked. Dorian and I entered into the reception hall I knew from my previous visit, only this time the curtains were drawn, and the room lay in shadow except for a faint light from the fireplace. I strode purposefully to the door behind which I sensed Alistair’s qai. I admit, I’d never been good at improvisation.

“Your Majesty! King Alistair! Please wake, we must talk!”, I called, banging my fist against the wood. It took less than a few seconds until my frantic pleas were answered. Only not by the king. A middle-aged man in nightrobes suddenly stood before me, catching my still-raised hand by the wrist. His face was livid.

“By the love of Andraste, have you taken leave of your senses, woman?! It’s the middle of the night! What are you making such a racket for?! Guards! Intruder!”, he yelled.

“You don’t understand –“, I began, while from the corner of my eye I saw Dorian step forward to come to my aid.

“What is going on here?”

Finally! Behind the other man, I glimpsed Alistair standing in another open doorway. He had taken the time to dress, but only partially. The lapels of his shirt were open, revealing part of his bare chest, which was disturbingly muscular. He wore breeches but no boots, and his hair was in a complete mess.

I felt a rush of giddiness at the sight of him, and implicitly knew that those emotions were _not_ mine. Damn, once we were through with our rescue mission, Roslyn and I needed to find a way to deal with our “connection” somehow. I cannot begin to describe how it unsettled me to feel attracted to any man other than Cullen. And now I was blushing. Oh, joy.

“Selkie?”, the king exclaimed in surprise when he caught sight of me being manhandled by his… who was this, anyway? His valet?

“Aron, let her go. She is a friend, not an intruder.”

I was released at once, but not without having Aron sniff at me disdainfully.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Me barging in here in the middle of the night must seem insane to you.”, I began with some hesitation.

“Oh, not at all. These kinds of things happen to me all the time.” Alistair gave me a lopsided grin. “Are you alright? Is something amiss? You look very… stressed.”

I gulped, knowing that the next words out of my mouth would make that smile disappear.

“I know what happened to Roslyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery woman revealed! Some of you likely suspected her identity already! And you know this means Alistair will surely be along for the ride :> I romanced him in DA:O, and although his relationship to Roslyn plays a much smaller role than Selkie and Cullen's, I liked exploring their story a bit. I hope you bear with me <3


	35. XXXV. Stormchaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update!! I was crazy busy these last days and didn't have much time to revise a chapter and upload it, but now it's here! Since things won't calm down for a while, I might be updating once a week instead of every 5 days now. But I'll keep the story coming! 
> 
> Have fun reading and enjoy <3

### XXXV. Stormchaser

_T_ _he Weaver_

* * *

The king went _still_. So still that even silence seemed like a sound around him. To this day, I am absolutely convinced that within some men, a predatory animal has gotten lost. Living trapped inside them. Gazing out of their eyes.

Only those men could stand with such an utter absence of movement, as if they thought they became invisible if they just stayed still for long enough. Cullen, for example. He did it sometimes to assert his authority, to a much better effect than snarling or shouting. He also did it when finding himself in a situation he didn’t know how to deal with.

I think it was the latter with Alistair. When his rigor finally broke, he made a strangely aborted gesture which had his fuming valet flee the room with a curt bow. Like a dreamer, Alistair stepped past me into the meeting room, motioning towards the three-piece suite at the centre.

Spine straight, I sat uneasily, folding my hands in my lap. He took his place across from me, while Dorian kept his vigil silently at my back. The whole situation was just… awkward. The king was staring at me with an intensity that made me want to unbutton my skin, step out of it and _run_. Suddenly he made a sweeping motion with one hand.

“Talk.”, he bade, but not unkindly.

“Ehr… This might take a while.”, I warned him, still antsy.

“Even if it takes a year, I will listen. Talk. Please.”

And so I talked. I took no pains to beat around the bush, because honestly, I was exhausted by how complicated things had gotten. Without Leliana or Cullen to guide me, to plot and strategize, I felt completely helpless.

Alistair never interrupted me. He never took the time to button his shirt, either. I talked about the vision and my first “meeting” with Roslyn. About the dreams ever since. About my successful attempt to contact her and the revelations in our conversation. By the time I was finished, my voice had turned rough and hoarse. Alistair leaned back, his features a battlefield between conflicting emotions.

“That’s why my men couldn’t find any trace of her. She was captured by the Venatori… And she was captured because she was looking for a cure to the Calling. And she wouldn’t have been looking for a cure if she hadn’t left Denerim…” he concluded bitterly.

“Your Majesty –“

“Oh, for Maker’s sake, stop with the Majestizing already. I can’t bear it!”, he thundered at me, standing abruptly. He began to pace the room cagily. It was difficult (since Josephine had instilled into me the exact opposite behaviour), but I forced myself to let go of the notion that the man I spoke to was a king. With a breath of courage, I said:

“Roslyn didn’t see it that way. When I asked her what to tell you, she said… ‘Tell him I still have the rose. And that I’m sorry. I have failed him’.” Alistair stopped his pacing and glanced at me.

“Failed me. Failed me? She has never failed me! Failed doing what, exactly? Swaying the shrews at court? Being a perfect queen? Damn it Roslyn, what is this about? Your pride, your honour? Did you leave because you wanted to save face? Because being the mistress of a king was too shameful?”, he wasn’t talking to me, but I still couldn’t hold back the derisive snort. To the Void with my penchant to slip over decorum. Alistair focused on me unerringly.

“What?”

“I’m sorry ‘Your Majesty’, but you are talking out of your arse.” Behind me, Dorian did a perfect impersonation of a gasping damsel. The king was rendered speechless. Well, I had started this madness, so I might as well finish it.

“Pride and honour are big words you men bandy about like swords, when they are really shields you hide behind. True pride has nothing to do with saving face. If it does, it’s a farce, a falsehood! Like all those nobles with their masks. It’s not real. If she truly loved you, there must have been a good reason why she left.”

“Why, then? Why? You seem to have all the answers, so you can damn well tell me!”, Alistair rounded on me, fury glinting in his eyes. I backed away, the thin thread holding my patience snapping at last. So many things had worn my control threadbare. Ariu’s uncertain fate, Cullen’s absence, Matthias’s stubbornness, the whole Roslyn business –

“I don’t know! I’m not her mouthpiece!”, I cried out angrily. They say still waters have hidden depths. Perhaps, as the balance of the sea lived within me, so did her temper. At the back of my mind, I knew I was being irrational. But knowledge is not a reliable safeguard against folly. People still keep doing foolish things, even though they should know better.

“I seriously have no inkling of the history between the two of you, and I never asked to be some kind of conduit for this woman’s… thoughts, feelings, whatever! I have enough on my mind without all of this bullshit burdening me. You both act like what happened is some unspeakable thing you have to tiptoe around all the time. For pity’s sake, it’s not that difficult! Did anything stop you from defeating the Archdemon? Of course not! Where is that determination now?! You are a blasted king, she’s the blasted Hero of Ferelden – if you want to be together just _be together_!”, my voice cracked at the end of my tirade, like a thin piece of glass.

“I just want to – to –“ And then Dorian was there, his arm winding around my shoulder, pulling me against his chest. A sob ripped from my throat.

“Papa. My Papa is hurt. He is so hurt.” I sounded like a child. It didn’t matter then. I buried my face into Dorian’s warmth, trying desperately to seek comfort in the scent of sun-flooded libraries and soft, fragrant silk.

“Send a raven to Skyhold. Tell them to hurry it along. She’s not well.”, I heard him say quietly, probably to Cole. He must have been lurking around the shadows all this time. Quiet, receding footsteps. Then, an awkward silence fell as I clung to Dorian.

“I… I’m sorry.”, Alistair said sincerely.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. The crux with apologies, though, is that you make them _after_ a stupid thing’s been done. She went through the whole Fade-dream-contact-ordeal and then came here immediately to tell you everything she knew. You thanked her by rounding on her, when she’s barely holding it together. Not a kingly move, Your Majesty.” Dorian kept his voice just this side of courteous, but with a generous measure of sarcasm. 

“I know. I do. This might not mean much now, but… I wish to lend my aid. Any expense on the ship, it will be paid for. And when she is rested… I humbly request permission to accompany the captain on her journey, with my best men to aid her mission. I will place myself under her command, accepting her judgement unquestioningly. If she allows me.”

Even in my state I realized what a tremendous concession he made by saying this. He gave me the option to refuse him, when he could have demanded his right to be on board. Could have insisted on it, evoking his royal privilege. I inhaled, gathering myself. Although I stayed huddled against Dorian, I succeeded in making my voice almost even.

“Permission granted.”

Dorian’s fingers stirred the hair at the crown of my head, and he gave an almost exasperated sigh.

“You could have left him dangling for a bit longer. Right now, he looks like a puppy with a stomach-ache, all repentant. Ah, but that is so like you.” He paused for an instant, and I had the impression some nonverbal communication passed between him and Alistair.

“Come now, little one. Time for bed. Up you go.” Dorian lifted me into his arms quite easily for his not-so-bulky stature. I didn’t even think about protesting. Exhaustion broke over me like an unstoppable avalanche. I simply entrusted myself to his care. Like Cullen, like Cole, like my friends who had unshakably supported me all along, Dorian had never let me come to harm.

“Thank you.”, I whispered softly, letting my head rest on his shoulder as he carried me through the deserted corridors back to our quarters.

At length, I spoke up again. “Do you miss the Bull? It must be hard, to be apart for so long…”

“Oh, that big brute can take care of himself. As he keeps reminding me. Frequently.”, he griped scathingly, but I caught the undercurrent of false bravado in his voice. It was quiet for a minute, his soft footfalls on the carpet the only sound around us.

“You amaze me, woman.”, Dorian suddenly said, sounding wry. “Putting a sovereign in his place like he’s nothing but a wilful child. Then in the next breath, you forgive him. What’s it like inside your head?”

I sighed. “Lately? Crowded. I feel like ever since Adamant, my world is in constant turmoil. Or perhaps it began with the Tidedancer sinking and just never stopped. My life is like a ship caught in one of those unending storms of my childhood, when my fathers had us sail to Estwatch during the worst stretch of winter. We did that every year. Most pirates sought anchorage in Llomeryn during the winter storms, where the sea is warmer and more merciful. Estwatch was nearly deserted. Ariu bought me a fur collar.”

We had entered our chambers by the time I had finished the story. Dorian deposited me onto the settee. But before he withdrew, I felt his hand smooth over my hair. Lightly. Affectionately.

“We’ll see him freed. Go to sleep now. You are deliriously tired.” He pulled the blanket up to my shoulders when I had stretched out. I didn’t even hear him leave anymore, so quickly I was gone.

* * *

The next morning, still bleary-eyed and in my rumpled clothes, I wrote a report to Leliana.

_Nightingale, _

_The ship is coming along nicely. Roland is cooperative, most of the time. He informs me that he will be finished in approximately six days. Once the changes are done, the ship should be loaded with supplies, which takes about one additional day. Then we are ready to sail. A crew of twelve reliable sailors has been assembled with the ample funds you provided. _

_However, there has been a development that changes the constellation of our additional passengers. I really don’t know how to start this, so I’ll just come out with it. The woman in my vision who was with Ariu is none other than the Hero of Ferelden. Roslyn Amell. Through our strange connection, I spoke to her in the Fade. She was captured by Venatori in the Brecilian Forest, while on her mission to cure the Calling. Now she is imprisoned together with Ariu. I do not know what they intend to do to her. Our meeting was interrupted prematurely. But I will try again to gather as much information for you as I can. At least Roslyn confirmed that the leader of the Venatori operation truly is a man calling himself “the Seeker”, as my father had told us._

I stopped for a moment, gazing at the map on my desk. Recently I had discovered that Cullen had a hidden passion for drawing up his own maps. This unusual pastime suited him perfectly, funnily enough. It was precise, meticulous work, to copy the complicated lines without fault. When I had asked him why he would take up such a hobby, he’d told me wryly that Varric had suggested it to him. 

I had a feeling that the map on my desk – one of his making – had been specifically drawn for me. The shorelines were done with such exquisite detail, every port marked in his succinct script. The cylinder to store it in was made from bone, inlaid with intricate carvings of a ship riding upon frothy waves. I had spent inordinate times tracing that stunning craftsmanship with my fingers. He’d kept the origins of it a secret.

I sighed, my hand rubbing subconsciously over my breastbone – and I promptly poked myself with the pen I held. Gathering my thoughts, I studied the map. I remembered sailing the waters east of Ferelden. Great parts of the shoreline were sharp, rocky cliffs leading directly into the treacherous forest. There were also some places where the landmass rose in a giant, steep wall from the sea, forming high plateaus impossible to climb – neither up nor down.

I deliberated where exactly the Dragon had anchored to pick up Roslyn. A good question to pose to my father. His knowledge was more extensive than mine. I continued my letter.

_When I told Alistair, things became a little heated. But he asked to accompany us on our journey. This will make taking the twelve soldiers you suggested more difficult, since the king might want to take some of his guard. _

_With the crew and our ‘special passengers’, the ship cannot accommodate more than an additional ten people. My father always said the easiest way to sabotage yourself as a captain is overcrowding your ship. _

_We will have to manage this change in passengers somehow. Please send me an estimation for the others’ arrival. I would like to set sail as soon as possible. We must end this threat, and free Ariu and Roslyn, before it is too late. _

I signed the message, then carefully copied it twice – once for Alec and once for Cullen. This would normally not be expected of me, since Skyhold had much faster scribes to create copies of important reports.

But I was stalling time before I had to face Alistair again after my emotional breakdown the night before. Well done, Selkie. Right marvellous, you were. Marvellously stupid. Oh Maker, when Josie got wind of my escapade, I would never hear the end of it.

At the bottom of Cullen’s copy, I added a few lines for him alone.

_My love, _

_I cannot fathom your patience to write up a dozen of these things a day. Surely I botched my first official report and left something important out. I’ve always been terrible with writing letters. Wait, that isn’t right. I simply haven’t written any before. To whom would I write from a moving ship? How would a reply find me? You see what I mean. _

_Things have been… trying since you left. I know it hasn’t been that long, and yet that changes nothing about the fact that I miss you. Especially at night. I miss the comfort and warmth of you by my side. And your snoring. _

_Return soon. Ariu does not have much time left. And Matthias is driving me mad. _

_Ever Yours,  
Sorceress _

It turned out that I had needlessly worried about making an apology to Alistair, mainly because he refused to hear it in the first place.

“No, no, you have it all backwards, you odd little madwoman who likes riding into battle in her nightgown beneath the full moon.”, he rebuked me. “I pushed you for selfish reasons. You were right to put me in my place. Hardly anyone has spoken to me so honestly since I have taken the throne. Except Roslyn. I hate that every time someone disagrees with me, they lead off with the phrase ‘With all due respect, Your Majesty’. It’s like I’m talking to parrots all day. I’d welcome it if you wouldn’t be one of them. If you tell me what you really think.”

I met his sincere, dark eyes, and not for the first time I wondered if he wasn’t as much of a prisoner as his lady love was.

“I will try.”, I answered with a nod. He inhaled a relieved breath, which truly baffled me. Had this meant so much to him? Just how pitiful a figure had I made yesterday?

“I should have married Roslyn years go, and damn what the court says. When I still had the chance… Now it might be too late. Things might be too broken.” With those words, he gave me another glimpse of the lonely man behind the kingly façade.

“I think you are wrong. It’s never too late to try mending things, Alistair.” I paused for an instant, pondering how much I should tell him. I didn’t want to reveal the whole extent of my connection to Roslyn. It might do more damage than good.

“The way she spoke of you was rather… As if she feared your disappointment, more than anything else.”, I ventured for a middle-ground. The king looked aside from me, deep in thought.

“I have no idea why she might think that.”, he said at length.

“Me, neither. And honestly, it isn’t my business. I have intruded enough on both of your privacy.”

“You have in turn been intruded upon as well.”, Alistair murmured reflectively. I allowed myself a small grin.

“Aye, that much is true.”

“Please keep me updated on anything else you hear of Roslyn. And if you need anything – anything at all – come to me. My men will let you through, no matter what time of day.”, he assured me.

* * *

I didn’t speak to Roslyn again for some time. But I sensed that she rode with me in my sleep, hiding within my dreams. I let her seek shelter with me and didn’t try to draw her out, because I sensed that she was afraid of something.

Perhaps that our contact would be discovered by Claudio, perhaps she had not told Ariu that she had spoken to me. Even though we didn’t communicate directly, she assured me wordlessly that he was still alive and holding on. Those vague sensations of comfort gave me strength in this time of uncertainty. I held on to the thought that I would soon be on my way to rescue Ariu.

The adjustments on our vessel were nearing their end. A few days later, when I visited my father at the shipyard, I found him overseeing Roland as he directed the woodworkers to finish something at the hull’s back end. I joined Matthias and explained the latest developments around Roslyn, as well as the king’s intentions to accompany us. He seemed astonished and a little taken aback, but quickly composed himself.

“Having royalty on our ship makes things more complicated. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so quick to allow him to come along.”, he mused.

“He said he would respect my authority as captain. He’s a good man, father. He just wants to save Roslyn. I don’t think he will be a problem.”

I took the carved bone cylinder from my pouch and opened it, taking out the map Cullen had made.

“What we still need to determine is where we should start looking.”, I said as I handed the map to my father.

“Roslyn believes she and Ariu are being held on an island. From what she told me, I think they are somewhere in this area south-east of Denerim.”

Matthias inspected the map systematically.

“The Vints must have caught her after we escaped and were sent to Suledin Keep. The shorelines here along the Brecilian Forest are not very forgiving to ships, but there are a few places where it’s safe to anchor near the land.”

We spent some time discussing possible routes and areas where he suspected the Red Dragon had sailed. It was good that we were in agreement about the concrete travelling plans for our journey. We spoke cordially to each other, and I almost felt as if things were back to normal between us.

“This is a decent map.”, my father said after we had plotted our general course. “Very precise. I should like to buy a few more from the map-maker who drew this. Mine were all lost when the Tidedancer sank.”

“Uhm…” I trailed away, not quite knowing if I should tell him who had made the map. Matthias rolled up the vellum and stashed it neatly within the cylinder. He smiled faintly as he ran his fingers over the carvings.

“Expensive choice, this dragon-bone casing. It’s Nevarran, you know. I hadn’t known that you fancied such things…”

I cleared my throat. “It was a gift, actually.” My father seemed lost in thought for a moment.

“I see. Speaking of gifts… I have one for you. Come.”

Baffled, I followed him up the gangplank and onto the ship. He led me towards the stern, to the sturdy wooden door flanked by two sets of stairs leading up to the quarterdeck. We entered the captain’s quarters together. For a cabin, it was rather spacious. Light fell in through the gallery windows on the far side, which were partially draped with new curtains.

The dark wooden beams of the low ceiling gleamed, with several lanterns secured to the rope-lines above. A matching desk and two padded chairs stood to the right, and although the surfaces were bare just now, I could imagine maps and other items spread out on the table-top, as they had always been in my father’s cabin on the Tidedancer.

A bookshelf was incorporated into the left-side wall. Behind it, I glimpsed a generously sized sleeping alcove, half-hidden from view by the shelf on one side and the drapery on the other. Lack of privacy was a problem on ships. We try to make personal spaces wherever we can. I went to the alcove, running my hands over the velvet fabric of the curtains. It was of a good quality, almost luxurious. There were two pillows on the mattress.

“I had this room furnished for you. I hope… you like it.”, my father said awkwardly.

“It’s beautiful. But so large… The one I had on the Tidedancer was much smaller.” I marvelled at the attention to detail he had put into every part of the furniture. The bookshelf was exactly tailored to my height. The clothing chest in the corner was made from the fragrant red cedar I loved. Even the wood polish was of a certain kind I was partial to. 

“Believe me, after two weeks on the sea, even this will seem small. And crowded, since I doubt you will be alone in here.”

I glanced at him to gauge how seriously I should take his surly undertone. He gave a fatalistic sigh and avoided my eyes.

“See how I bumble along without Ariu? He is the one who could handle these things… I tend to forget that you are a grown woman now. You make your own decisions, whether I agree or not.”

I surreptitiously adjusted the bedspread before I turned to face him.

“We will rescue him.”, I said with great determination. My father looked at me silently for a minute.

“You have changed.”, he said then, sounding strangely wistful. He caught himself before I could react.

“There is another thing I wanted to give you.”

He went to the clothing chest and opened it, extracting a package wrapped in light, translucent paper. Settling it on the table, my father motioned for me to open it. As I unfolded the wrapping tissue, I found a stunning mariner’s coat. It was made from heavy, soft wool of a quality I had rarely seen before, dyed midnight blue, with two perfect rows of shiny silver buttons.

A subtly embroidered pattern wound downward along the lapels, but the precision of the stitches gave me the impression that this had been done by a master’s hand. The most impressive work had gone into the coat’s high collar – a life-like scenery of dolphins engaged in play. I touched the detailed needlework, the expensive fabric, running my fingers over the buttons. Every single one had a tiny anchor motif on its surface.

“This is…” I was speechless.

“It wasn’t easy to find a tailor willing to put this together within a few days. I left a small fortune with the man… But he did good work. He recreated the one I’d had made for you in Denerim a year ago, almost perfectly. That one was lost with the Tidedancer, though.”, he explained matter-of-factly. 

I just gaped at him. Matthias coughed into the awkward silence, before he reached out and lifted the coat, holding it out for me.

“Try it on. Your friend Dorian helped me with the measurements.”

After blinking rapidly a few times, I did try it on. And it was a perfect fit. I examined myself critically in the small looking glass mounted on the wall. My mind had difficulty reconciling the serious-looking woman in the stunning captain’s coat with the carefree girl who had run the decks of the Tidedancer with her fathers shouting admonishments at her.

“Maker, I look…”

“Like a captain.”, Matthias finished in a resolute tone.

“As you should. You will command this vessel. This coat is both meant to distinguish you and remind you of your responsibilities. You will be held accountable for the well-being of those on board. But you will also be respected and obeyed. Even by kings and generals, it seems.” 

He never spoke the actual words – that just wasn’t his way – but their message still somehow came across: _I am proud of you_. I smiled at him.

“Thanks, Dad.”

My father looked momentarily stunned. I had never called him Dad before, not even as a child. He had always been ‘father’ – a respectful, distant title in comparison to the much warmer ‘dad’ I had always used with Ariu. When I saw the astonishment on his face, I had to ask myself if some of the ever-present reservation between us could be traced back to my own aloof behaviour towards him.

As we stepped out of the captain’s quarters and onto the main deck, I felt different all of a sudden – although objectively, nothing much had changed. Old Sam, who had stood at the railing overlooking the docks, now turned and let out a whistle as he saw me.

“Look alive, me hearties! Captain on deck!”, he barked.

Two of the sailors stopped their work on the ropes and straightened alertly, awaiting orders. Disconcerted, I motioned them to carry on. Was this how Cullen felt, all the time? With every soldier in Skyhold standing to attention in his presence? Looking to him for guidance? How deeply aggravating.

“You’ll get used to it.”, my father murmured. He sounded close to placating. “There is still one thing we haven’t discussed yet.”

“Oh?”, I glanced up at him. He let his eyes wander along the deck appraisingly.

“This ship needs a new name. _Queen’s Journey_ just does not suit her purpose. You have to come up with a new one.”

I frowned. “How did you come up with _Tidedancer_?”

Matthias barked a laugh. “_Tidedancer_ was never my idea! It was Ariu’s.” I grinned, believing that without a doubt.

“So, what would you have called it?”, I wondered. He pondered the question for a time, rubbing his bearded chin.

“Hm… How about… _Stormchaser_?”

“Stormchaser…”, I tested the name on my tongue. The sea lapped against the hull, whispering as if in assent. The hull creaked beneath my feet like a living creature. A salty breeze rifled gently through my hair.

“Aye, I like it. Stormchaser she is.” 

* * *

The world was in flames around me. Red glares and blasts of heat, glowing outlines of a wide room brought to ruin by fire. Sparks drifted through the sweltering air, and every breath felt like swallowing ash.

The tapestries burned brightest, scorched beyond recognition. The flames of their demise licked along the support-beams of the ceiling, and I felt the heat radiating from the smouldering embers. My body was flattened to the stone floor, my mouth dry, lips cracked and smeared with soot. This was a nightmare. I wanted to cry in helpless terror, but my scratchy throat refused to produce a sound. I was trapped in here with no escape.

The ceiling had caved in around the entrance already, burying two bodies beneath a flaming mass of wood. Screams echoed in my ears, horrible, ear-splitting death wails of people being burned alive. My eyes watered from the thick smoke, but at least this close to the floor it was not as unbearable as standing up. I crawled forward, inch by inch. Someone nearly stepped on me. They were on fire.

Human torches, running blindly for their lives. Why had I been left behind? Why did I have to die alone? I looked at my dirty hands, blackened by soot, nails bloodied from clawing my way through the chaos.

A hand gripped me by the scruff of the neck, hauled me up and along. We ran. Between the splintered desks, the sizzling flames. Broken glass littered the ground, and a deafening explosion nearly stunned me. But the instinct to survive was stronger than anything else. We ran on.

Then I saw it. Within all the destruction, a trapdoor built into the floor. The hand that wrenched it open was drenched in blood, covered with ugly blisters that had split open. It was grotesque.

“We’ll live.”, someone choked out, before throwing me into the darkness beyond the door.

I landed on hard, slick wood, a cacophony of noise erupting around me. Sailors hurried in panic across the deck of the Tidedancer, a merciless storm raged over the heavens above. I heaved myself up, but when I looked at my hands, they were in flames. I burned. And the fire I’d brought with me spread across the deck in giant, devouring tongues. The wetness hadn’t been water. It was oil.

“What have you done?!”, Ariu cried. The flames rushed to him like homing birds. Merciless. Deadly. He was engulfed in a blazing inferno, and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Suddenly, I was yanked out of the nightmare, falling again. Falling for what felt like an eternity. Then I landed on soft grass, unceremoniously crumpling to the ground. I breathed fresh air, the scent of melted snow, dormant foliage and herbs. Skyhold. The gardens. Roslyn sat on my favorite bench, gazing at me with a troubled expression.

“Your dreams are made of shadow and flame.”, she said, surveying me rather intensely. Instead of answering, I stood unsteadily and dusted off my clothes. Flecks of ash rained to the ground.

“You were a child in your nightmare about the burning house.”, Roslyn went on.

“That’s not mine.”, I said mechanically. Inwardly, I worried. I had not dreamed of the fire so vividly, so clearly in a long time.

“Are you sure? It seemed like a memory to me.”

“Not mine.”, I repeated in a wooden voice. Roslyn just looked at me appraisingly. I sighed.

“Can we please just… leave it be?”

She was silent for a long minute, then she gave a slow nod.

“I apologize for prying. This… connection between us seems to grow stronger. I ride with your dreams even if I don’t intend to. And there are other things…”

“Aye, I hear you.”, I murmured, remembering my conversation with Alistair the other day. “I hope I don’t insult you if I say that I don’t enjoy it very much.”

To my surprise, Roslyn gave a short laugh. “Oh, you don’t? Ask me. Either you are a rather unstable person, or you went through some extreme ups and downs lately. When you feel strongly, I feel it too. Anger, shock, fear, elation – all in one day. Not to mention, something _very_ inappropriate a few nights back.”

I blushed wildly. “That’s – that’s private!”

“I should think so. I tried to ignore it, but it was like trying to ignore someone shouting at you. Don’t worry, it’s always just… a general sensation, diffuse. It seems no thoughts are conveyed, or – Maker forbid – images. But still… A part of me envies you.”

She looked away from me, into the distance, at something I could not see. “It seems ages ago that I last felt something close to passion.”

Overcoming my embarrassment, I walked over and sat down beside her.

“So… after you left the king… you never…?” Roslyn shook her head.

“No. Why would I?”

I lifted my shoulders. “Maybe so you would move on.”

“Ah. No, I think not. Moving on is not an option, in this case. I daresay you can understand that.”, she replied seriously.

“I can. But then… Why _did_ you leave, Roslyn?”

“Because I wanted to find a cure.”, she answered evasively.

“You mean to say that you woke up one day and decided to pack your things and leave the man you love for a quest of danger and solitude? I refuse to believe that. Something prompted your decision. But… I understand if you don’t want to tell me. It was an intrusive question, anyway.”

Roslyn reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. The touch surprised me. I felt the same peculiar, soothing sensation as I had when she had taken Ariu’s hand while I’d been with him in spirit. Warm water, lapping over my skin. Odd… Usually, unfamiliar people’s touches made me uncomfortable.

“I would like to tell you everything. But… It doesn’t seem like the right time for it.”, Roslyn said softly.

“I understand. The ship is finished. We will be on our way in a matter of days.” I assured her. She nodded solemnly.

“I’ll make sure we are ready.”

A familiar, gentle brush against my consciousness drew my attention. Cullen… He was close, calling to me. I let the slipstream of awakening catch me, sliding away from Roslyn, leaving her within Skyhold’s halcyon gardens. Her perceptive eyes followed me, and I had a strange, fleeting impression that I had forgotten something important. 


	36. XXXVI. Dancing with the Tides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day with a new chapter!   
Alright, Cullen's back, and finally we are going on our journey! The fact that I'm still getting kudos and your lovely comments that you are still enjoying the story makes me all giddy inside <333  
I love writing interactions between Cullen and Matthias :D They are always incredibly fun  
Enjoy the read!

### XXXVI. Dancing with the Tides

_The Vanguard_

* * *

This time around, we had arrived into Jader long after midnight, deciding not to camp out on the road but to ride through the last dozen miles even though night had fallen. I’d been anxious to get back. The negotiations for Blackwall’s release – and his subsequent trial – had taken longer than we had anticipated. Now the man had been pardoned by the Inquisitor, and he’d taken up his work at Skyhold again.

Since I would be away from the keep for an unknown length of time, I had ordered my second-in-command Rylen to return from Gryffonwing Keep to act in my stead. I trusted him to manage everything well in my absence, but it was still a strange feeling to relinquish command after such a long time.

Alec on the other hand seemed positively giddy with excitement. Usually when he went out into the field, he was obligated to handle a thousand issues and act as the Inquisition’s leader. This mission would be different for him. Like every one of us, Alec too would be under the captain’s command for as long as we travelled the seas. I think it excited him to let someone else take over the reins for a change.

While he whistled quietly beside me, occasionally taking up conversation with the Bull, I worried. I worried about Selkie’s state of mind. The developments of the past weeks had put more and more pressure on her, and despite my adamant belief in her strength, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all becoming too much for her to bear. The messages from Jader had confirmed my suspicions. She was not well. I hoped desperately that the sea voyage would lift her spirits.

After sending our soldier escorts to the barracks for a few hours of sleep, the Bull, Alec and I rode up the winding way to the palais. Varric had left Skyhold a little later than we had, so he’d only be arriving sometime in the morning.

Everything was quiet at this time of the night. The guards let us through without fuss, and a sleepy stable boy took our horses into his care.

When we came to the living quarters, I was surprised to find Selkie stretched out on a large settee, asleep. A blanket had been draped over her. Closer to the lively fire beneath the mantle, Dorian sat in an armchair, dozing with his head propped into one hand, an open book in the other.

The Bull, Alec and I stood silently for a moment, watching them.

“Didn’t you say there were bedrooms for everyone?”, Alec murmured.

With surprisingly soundless steps, the Bull walked up to Dorian and gave him a push.

“Wake up, Kadan.”, he rumbled.

“Wh-“ Dorian startled, dropping his book. He looked around in confusion for an instant, then seemed to gather himself. “Oh, it’s you. Damn it, don’t sneak up on a person like that. Waking up to your looming face is terrifying!”, he hissed out.

The Bull gave a noncommittal grunt. “Shut up and get into a real bed. Why are you sleeping out here?”

“She needed the company.”, Dorian answered quietly as he rose from the chair.

“So much for the joy of reunion.”, Alec said, grinning. I walked over to the settee where Selkie lay. Our conversation hadn’t disturbed her. In fact, she seemed to sleep very deeply.

“She’s dreaming with Roslyn again, is my guess. It happens from time to time. Best not to wake her abruptly.”, Dorian informed me.

“I’ll take her to our room.”, I replied as I lifted Selkie carefully into my arms. Turning to Alec, I added: “Get some rest now while you can, Alec. It will be more difficult once we are on a moving ship.”

I carried Selkie to the bedroom, quietly pushing the door close with my shoulder. The sheets looked unused, as if they hadn’t been touched for days. Cold ashes lay dormant beneath the mantle, and the room was altogether chilly. Nobody had slept here in a while. Selkie didn’t stir even as I deposited her onto the mattress.

With some difficulty, I got a fire going in the hearth and fed it generously to chase the cold away. Just when I was strapping off my armour, I heard a soft yelp from the bed. It was followed by a few whispered words I couldn’t distinguish. I moved closer, listening.

Selkie turned in her sleep, her hands twitching, her brow deeply furrowed. I feared she was having a nightmare, but as I reached out to wake her, she seemed to relax again. A sigh left her lips and her hands went slack. I was about to turn away to remove the rest of my armour when I heard her speak, very softly.

“Rowan.”, she breathed. Her voice was filled with a wretched sadness. I froze, looking at her.

“I’m so sorry.”

She sounded so awfully young. Young and lost. Her despair paralyzed me completely. 

Who was Rowan? She had never mentioned the name. I knew all the important names of her life on the Tidedancer. Instinctively, I realized that this must be a name from a time _before_ that. I’d always wondered where Selkie had come from – her true parentage.

She claimed not to remember anything, and I believed her. Or rather I believed that she believed it. Something terrible must have happened, something so traumatizing that she had forced the memories out of her consciousness.

But the mind rarely forgets such a thing in its entirety. Traces remain, surfacing when we are most vulnerable. In sleep, in our dreams, the things we don’t want to remember come back to us more easily.

I stood motionless for a few more minutes, waiting if Selkie would say more. But nothing else came. Her breathing had deepened, signalling that she was fully asleep. As I climbed into the bed, I already knew that I wouldn’t mention this to her. I’d tried to raise the issue of the distant past several times already, and it had gotten me nowhere.

Yet… There was someone else who might know. The only problem was that he trusted me about as far as he could throw me. Then again, perhaps now was not the best time to delve into it at all.

A journey into the unknown, a dangerous hunt, a rescue mission against time… Everybody had to be focused. But still, an uneasy apprehension haunted me into my sleep, a diffuse fear I could not really grasp. When morning came, the bustle around our departure distracted me from the issue. Selkie didn’t give any indication that she remembered the dream. I let it go. 

* * *

It is a marvel how much preparation a large ship needs before it is ready for a prolonged journey. At noon on the next day, I stood on the deck of the newly named Stormchaser and watched as the sailors we’d hired finalized the last things before we could pull from the port.

They examined the rigging meticulously and renewed knots while shouting words which meant nothing to me, like ‘hailyard’, ‘leech’ and ‘clew’. There was a constant coming and going as supplies of food and water were being loaded onto the ship. Everything that might move had to be roped down or else be secured with nets. A boy walked around with an oil flask, filling the numerous lamps and checking their soundness. Sleeping places were assigned, the deck was scrubbed clean one last time.

Some of the workings were beyond me. For example, why Old Sam neck-slapped a boy for rolling the ropes ‘like a cross-eyed buffoon’. They looked perfectly fine to me. At the front of the ship, Alec and Alistair were speaking quietly to each other. The soldiers had not yet boarded, since they’d be underfoot during the preparations.

I didn’t envy them. They would spend a lot of time below deck, sleeping in hammocks or on the floor. Following Old Sam’s advice, I had picked those of my best men who claimed a good resistance against seasickness. I still hoped they wouldn’t curse me after the first few days bobbing across the Waking Sea.

I watched Selkie and her father as they stood on the quarterdeck, conversing and occasionally directing the men to their duties. Selkie had not put on a hat as Alec had suggested, but the stunning mariner’s coat she wore marked her unmistakably as the ship’s captain.

Matthias was dressed far more modestly, as if he’d deliberately chosen to be unassuming in comparison to his daughter. Nevertheless, he radiated an aura of expertise and respect, which would discourage anyone who knew what was good for them from disobeying him.

After a few minutes, Selkie left her father and joined me on the main deck. Her raven locks were fashioned into a neat braid, bound by a white silk ribbon. It fluttered in the lively breeze. She smiled faintly at me.

“We are almost ready to pull anchor. The tide will be just right for us soon, and it’s our luck that we have a brisk offshore wind today.”

A coltish excitement danced in her sapphire eyes. Her eagerness was almost palpable in the air around her. She wanted to weave, to carry a ship upon the waves again. Let her power roam free after months of being away from the sea.

“Oh, well… That’s good, then.”, I replied, making her tilt her head at me inquiringly.

“It’s much easier to pull from the port with an offshore wind. The foresails can catch it with much less manoeuvring than…”, she trailed away, frowning. “I’m boring you.”

“No! No, not at all.”, I hurried to placate her. “I simply feel like I have stepped into a world I barely understand.”

Selkie surveyed me for a moment. “Do you remember the names of the sails?”

“Ehr…”

She shook her head rebukingly. “It’s quite easy, actually. The topmost one is always the royal. Below it comes the topgallant sail. Then the topsail, then the mainsail. Or the foresail, depending on the mast.”

“What about the one at the front?”, I pointed to the neatly rolled canvases on the bowsprit.

“Oh, he’s special. He’s the jib.” Selkie smiled. “The one at the back is called spanker.”

I lifted a brow sceptically, which resulted in her rolling her eyes. Our conversation was interrupted by a sailor coming up the gangplank.

“Captain.”, the man called to Selkie respectfully. “All cargo is loaded and secured.”

“Good. Thank you, Oliver. As soon as the soldiers are on board and settled below deck, prepare to pull anchor.”, she said, then turned to me with a nod. “It’s time.”

When everything was ready, Selkie gathered us around her. I looked at our company. Varric had arrived late in the morning due to some business at Skyhold, but he seemed enthusiastic to get going. Smelling a good story, perhaps.

Alec was his usual cheery self, while Cole inspected the ropes above with great fascination. Dorian and the Bull stood side by side, waiting for Selkie to speak. The last in our company was the king, who looked rather relieved that the peace talks had come to an end and he could make a scandalous escape.

“My friends.”, Selkie began in a serious tone. “This journey will be a dangerous undertaking. I promise that I will do my best to get us through it unharmed. But I don’t know what awaits us on the way, or at our destination. So, I urge you to… to reconsider your decision of accompanying me. Once we cast off the ropes and are on our way, there is no turning back. If you have changed your minds, now is the last chance to disembark. I won’t hold it against you.”

A long silence fell after her speech. Nobody spoke up. The Bull shifted impatiently on his feet. Selkie waited for another minute, before her shoulders sank and she gave a small nod.

“Just as well.”

“You didn’t really think anyone would leave, did you Princess?”, Varric asked with a grin. “Haven’t been on a ship in a while. It will be a nice change.”

“I didn’t expect it, but I had to ask.”, Selkie answered quietly. “You should retreat up to the quarterdeck until we are out on the seas, or you will be in the crew’s way.” 

With her next words, her voice changed. It turned louder and more resolute. A captain’s voice.

“Look alive, men! Plank up! Pull anchor and release the shorelines!”, she suddenly shouted. Up at the wheel, Matthias repeated her command, and then it echoed all around the deck. We barely had time to follow her order before the whole ship broke into dynamic activity.

I watched three burly sailors pull the heavy chain of the anchor and secure it at the back of the vessel. The Stormchaser began to drift ever so slightly away from its wharf. The entire crew was in motion, doing a thousand things at the same time – or so it seemed to me. At Selkie’s confident orders, they hissed the mainsails, and at once the wind caught them.

As the bright white canvases ballooned out, the hull began turning away from the docks, slowly but surely forging onward. I sensed the subtle magic when Selkie adjusted our course, but only very gently. She worked in complete tandem with her father, who handled the wheel with visible self-assurance.

Once our position was secure, Selkie ordered the foresails to be hissed and trimmed, then the jib, and finally the ill-named spanker. I was so mesmerized by the elegance of the whole manoeuvre, by the precision and expertise of the sailors as they executed each command, that I almost didn’t notice how far we had already sailed from the harbour.

In the distance behind us, Jader was shrinking away. Farther and farther, until it looked to me like a toy city with its red-tiled roofs and colourful painted houses. Below at the bowsprit, Selkie paced up and down, her gaze scanning the sea ahead.

Some time passed as the Stormchaser left behind solid shores and shallow waters. Old Sam started whistling a tune, and soon some of the sailors joined in while continuing their work. Matthias moved the wheel with a light hand, occasionally casting his gaze over each of the masts. Once the initial uproar of our departure had died down, the others dispersed on deck to watch the distant shore, or the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out to our left.

A calmer pace seemed to settle in when we had set our course. Or so I thought at first. At some point – I couldn’t discern what triggered it exactly – Selkie stopped pacing.

“Trim all sails as close to the wind as you can!”, she called out. “Father! Just a hint to our portside! We are not quite in the current.”

“Oh, good. I thought we would never get going.”, Matthias murmured before repeating her command in his deep voice. Alistair, who had stayed with me on the quarterdeck, turned curiously.

“Get going?”

“You’ll see soon.”, the former captain said shortly.

I watched Selkie take up a position at the very front of the ship. She assumed a stance I remembered from the night of the stable fire. Rolling her shoulders, shaking out her arms for a few prolonged minutes. She was preparing herself to weave. 

I was momentarily distracted by Matthias, who turned to me with a sort of cool disdain on his face.

“Commander. You have never sailed with my daughter before, have you?”, he queried, the corner of his mouth lifting into the shadow of a smirk.

“No. How did you…”

“Because you are not holding on to something.”

Just at that instant, the ship gave a forceful lurch, like a stubborn horse bucking up against his rider. Alistair was lucky – he had the railing to hold on to. Me on the other hand, the movement caught by surprise, and I lost my footing. I fell backwards with propelling arms, but Matthias caught me almost casually. His eyes glinted with glee as he steadied me.

“I could not have timed that better.”, he said, calmly returning to his wheel.

“Before, we sailed. Now watch us _fly_.”

And fly, we did. With another, gentler heave, the ship accelerated. A surge of magic lapped against my senses. I saw Selkie gracefully moving her arms, her nimble fingers describing fluent gestures. She weaved, and the sea heeded her call. I would never be able to describe the process properly. Words don’t reach that far.

It was like a dance, like a constant push-and-pull in which both sides rejoiced beyond telling. It was as if she sang a song and the sea played the music to complement her voice. An incredible duet, executed to perfection.

Beneath our hull, the water rushed and lapped up, snickering mischievously over the sleek wood. With the wind in our sails and the current commanded by a true-blooded Waterweaver, we picked up the pace. The sailors had stopped their work to look over the railings with stunned expressions. Alistair too was staring down the side of the ship, his hair whipped back from his face by the wind.

Waves parted before the bow, granting the Stormchaser free passage with no interference. Matthias had planted his feet wide, while he used one hand on the wheel to correct the course from time to time.

Every now and then, the ship scoured a wave to gain a short burst of speed, causing the hull to tilt and teeter as it sped downward again. I gripped the railing for support. The constant movement beneath my feet was making me a little nauseous.

“Maker, we are so fast… I have never seen a ship move like this.”, the king remarked, sounding awe-struck.

“My daughter seems to be a bit out of practice. We aren’t moving quite as smoothly as we used to. Give it a day or two and she’ll be her old self.”

* * *

And so, our journey began in earnest. On this first day after our departure, Selkie weaved the tides on and off for four hours. When the Stormchaser drifted closer to the shoreline to settle in for the night, the exertion was clearly visible on her features. The instant the cabin door closed behind us, she fell face-first onto the mattress in our alcove, and was fast asleep a minute later.

I on the other hand had difficulty finding rest. Being inside the cabin made me feel the rocking motions more strongly, and a sense of nausea seemed to have permanently settled in my stomach. I was seasick, I realized bitterly as I lay beside a softly snoring Selkie, staring at the wooden support beams.

How could she sleep so soundly, with the constant seesawing? Then again, she’d grown up on a ship. This was likely more natural to her than the absence of movement. After concentrating on her even breaths for a while with the hope of drifting off, I decided to leave her to her well-deserved rest and explore the ship by night. Perhaps the unease in my insides would settle in good time. Maker, I hoped so.

The sky was clear tonight, sprinkled with countless constellations. The bigger of our two moons rose slowly above the waterscape like a shining silver coin, making the waves glow and gleam with an ethereal light. Oil lamps had been lit, hanging from the masts whose sails had been carefully taken in.

At the very front of the forecastle deck, a few sailors – including Old Sam – were sitting around a sturdy-looking barrel, playing cards. To my surprise, the Bull and Varric were among them, passing a flask of dubious origin around. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Standing at the portside railing were the King’s Guard captain and Ainsley, discussing something quietly. I was glad that the men were getting along with each other, as well as with the crew. In such limited space with no way of escape, dissent could quickly get out of control.

“Having trouble sleeping?”, Matthias’ voice startled me. I hadn’t seen or heard him. Swathed in shadows, he sat on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck. His tone was a little less aloof than usual.

“I’m not yet used to the motion.”, I answered casually.

A brief gleam of illumination fell onto his face as he lit a long, slender pipe. Matthias drew on it several times, and the embers glowed in an orange hue, dancing across his harsh features. His shrewd eyes were surveying me.

“I took up smoking when I stopped taking lyrium. Ariu and Selkie hate the habit, but they keep an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ policy.”, he explained when he saw my questioning look. “So, I only indulge at night.”

He had never spoken to me on his own free will before. I wondered if Selkie had anything to do with his sudden verbosity. It would be foolish to let this opportunity pass me by.

“My father used to smoke too. After a long day, he’d sit in the parlour, smoke his pipe and play chess with me and my sister.”

“Where is he now?”, Matthias asked. Smoke curled up from the place where he sat, swirling languidly. I leaned against the railing behind me.

“He died during the Blight.”, I answered quietly.

“Ah. I see.” He didn’t offer condolences or empty words. Sentimentality was not in his nature. There was a lengthy pause before he spoke again.

“Is this your first journey at sea?”

“Not quite. When I transferred to Kirkwall, I crossed the canal on a ship from West Hill. And then again on my way back to Ferelden, after the rebellion started.”

“Kirkwall, aye. Stannard’s personal playground.”, Matthias mused scornfully. “Crossing over takes a day or two, depending on the weather. We will be at sea for quite a bit longer than that. Best get used to it soon. You look paler than a washed-out sheet. Chew some ginger every morning. Helps with the sickness.”

Sucking on his pipe once more, he rose. It seemed this was his limit for abiding my presence, at least for now.

“Thank you.”, I murmured. As Cornwall turned away from me, I spoke up again.

“Ser. Does the name Rowan mean anything to you?”

It was too dark to see his face, but his body language gave him away. He stiffened, pipe held in mid-air, his free hand balling into a fist.

“Where did you hear that name?” His voice had turned cold.

“You do know something.”, I said instead of answering. Matthias looked at me over his shoulder, eyes pinning me down.

“I trust you haven’t mentioned it to Selkie.”, he clipped.

“No. But I’m beginning to think that perhaps I should.” His behaviour was irritating me.

“You have no idea what you are saying.” With a practiced motion, Matthias tapped out his pipe on the railing.

“Like your father, Rowan is with the Maker now. Has been for many years. Don’t pry into affairs you know nothing about, boy. You’d be dredging up a past nobody wants to remember. And she won’t thank you for it.”

I bristled at the condescending way he called me ‘boy’, as if I was a stubborn child. But the warning in his words was very serious. I watched Matthias climb the steps to the trapdoor that led to his cabin. My discussion with him had only gotten me more questions instead of answers. I was confused and insulted by his refusal to cooperate.

What on earth did all of this mean? Even if he was right, and Selkie didn’t want to remember the past… for some reason this name, whoever it belonged to, had come back to haunt her. Why now? Why not before? Did it have something to do with Matthias? Or perhaps our journey? That made no sense. If I only knew what had happened that made Selkie fear fire so much… I was sure there was a connection.

With a sigh, I ascended to the quarterdeck and went right to the stern. It was quiet and peaceful back here. The black waters swayed calmly, rocking the hull like a cradle.

“Cole?”, I whispered into the soft silence. He appeared a few feet to my right, sitting on the railing. His strange eyes focused on me.

“It had many colours, but only one was her favourite. Was it a flower? Or a rainbow?”, he wondered cryptically.

I skipped over the first comment. It still wasn’t easy meeting Cole’s gaze, but I had come to accept him for what he was, after seeing how close he and Selkie were.

“You… You know Selkie well. And you have a unique insight into people’s thoughts. Remember when you told me that she fears the flame? I was wondering if you knew… what exactly happened to her, before she was taken in by Matthias and Ariu?”

Cole thought about this for a long time. I waited, poised. When he finally answered, he sounded uncertain.

“It’s not a thing she wants us to help with. Forget, forget, forget. She draped it with a thousand layers of forgetting, so only little pieces remain. But they sting, like thorns in flesh.” He frowned in concentration. “I don’t know if it’s right to talk about this.”

“Lately, the past seems to haunt her dreams. I just… I just don’t want her to suffer.”, I said sincerely.

“I know, Cullen.” Cole’s voice was soft. He sighed once, and then his gaze went into the distance, as if he was looking into a faraway place none but him could see. 

“They fell asleep holding hands, like we sometimes do. A summer storm rumbled beyond the mountains, and she had never liked storms. But when she woke, she was alone, and the world was burning. Bad men came, killing and setting the houses aflame. She ran, crying out for Mama, Mother, make it stop, don’t leave me – but they were gone.”

I listened to the story with rising horror. “Her family left her? I can’t believe they would do such a thing.”

Cole glanced at me briefly. “I see what she feels, what is real for her. Abandoned, alone, afraid. But when she needed it most, one came for her.”

“Rowan.”, I whispered, and the spirit nodded.

“He helped her through the flames, shielded her, hid with her in a dark and dank place where the fire couldn’t reach them. But he was too hurt. He didn’t make it through the night.”, Cole said, his expression turning sad.

“Maker’s Breath…”, I choked.

What a terrible thing for a child to live through. No wonder Selkie wanted to forget. Had she watched Rowan struggle with his injuries, dying in agony? He had likely sustained burns too severe during the fire. How helpless and alone she must have felt.

Who had Rowan been? Her father? Her brother? Had the rest of her family truly left her, or had they lost her in the chaos? Had more of them – or all of them – perished in the fire, been cut down by the raiders? Or had they returned to find ashes and bones, and mourned the death of their little girl? Was there some other side to this that Selkie never knew?

“Blood. Blood remembers.”, Cole interrupted my thoughts. “They found her the next day. Ariu took her from the darkness. Matthias cut down the bad men. Every last one. But for her, a life was over. She left it behind in that cellar, and emerged as a different person. Selkie. Shedding her skin, the names of her past, even her own name. But she couldn’t forget Rowan. Not entirely.”

“Because he saved her life, likely at the cost of his own. Forgetting him would mean forgetting his sacrifice.”, I said bitterly. 

Cole nodded again, his eyes holding a certain appreciation for my sympathy. 

“They fight each other inside her dreams. The forgetting and the remembering. It was a gentle fight for a long, long time. But now…” He trailed away. I knew what he meant, though.

“Since her vision of Ariu, it’s getting worse.”

“Yes, yes… But why? The name, the name… What was her name?” Cole sprang from the railing, suddenly agitated.

“I don’t know, Cullen. I see little pieces. Lullabies and laughter. Someone fell down, but it was me who cried. Melodies but no words. Are we even helping? Are we making it worse?”

I looked out over the calm nocturnal seascape, thinking of Selkie’s deep sorrow when she had begged forgiveness from Rowan. Thinking of all the times she had outright denied a life before the Tidedancer. Thinking of a frightened little girl, trapped in a dark cellar with a loved one dying right beside her.

My heart felt like a heavy burden inside my chest. Hadn’t she been the one who had taught me not to be haunted by the mistakes of the past, but to accept them as a part of me instead? It is a long and difficult path, forgiving yourself. I was still in the process of learning it.

But I had been an adult, at least partially capable to understand why those things had happened to me. Not so Selkie. She’d been a helpless, traumatized child. And somehow, forgetting that horrible night had enabled her to become the person I knew today. A brave, passionate, clever woman with a wisdom beyond her age. A woman I’d fallen madly in love with, and whose happiness meant the world to me.

What should I do? Should I even pursue this further? Matthias had vehemently discouraged me. Even Cole had doubts. Were they right? Perhaps dredging up the past would do more damage to Selkie than good. Perhaps it would even destroy her. And I already felt guilty for prying into it. Sighing, I made a difficult decision.

“We should keep this to ourselves for now, Cole.”, I said quietly. “Maybe you are right. Selkie wouldn’t want us to dig up the past. I wish it were different, but we should respect that.”

“Maybe. Maybe it will go to sleep again, and leave her alone.”, he replied, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Later, as I lay beside Selkie again and tried to quiet the questions burning on my mind, I remembered something Leliana had said: _Secrets always see the light of day_. And I wondered if perhaps, somewhere out in the world, there was a mother who, after twenty years, still wept for her lost child every night. Unknowing that there was no reason for her grief. My conscience bristled at the wrongness of it, but… I had made my decision.

In her sleep, Selkie huddled close to me, seeking her usual place. I curled an arm around her shoulders, tucking her head beneath my chin. She smelled of sea spray and ocean winds, but I could still make out her familiar fragrance beneath it. Rose oil and allspice. Breathing her in, I lay awake on our first night out at sea, asking myself if I was really doing the right thing, or just postponing the inevitable. Whatever the answer was, I didn’t find it. 


	37. XXXVII. Blood Remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Home is behind  
The world ahead  
And there are many paths to tread_
> 
> _Through shadow  
To the edge of night  
Until the stars are all alight_
> 
> _Mist and shadow  
Cloud and shade  
All shall fade  
All shall fade._  
([The Edge of Night](https://open.spotify.com/track/3CwoE5kjoybLevfNdOaTio?si=8U9AWUVUQH2uZSzWt2dwgA) from The Lord of the Rings, performed by Clamavi De Profundis) 
> 
> Long wait, but here it is! Have fun reading, it's a long one, and A LOT happens. Hope you enjoy :))

### XXXVII. Blood Remembers

_The Weaver_

* * *

“_Do you want to go back?”_

There is no going back. There is only damp stone, flames raging above, darkness and death reigning below. His dead eyes staring into nothingness like two foggy marbles. I shouldn’t be able to see them, but I do. I can feel him staring. His body is empty. Nothing lives in it anymore. Cold. Gone. The spark that was Rowan had been burned away, and he had left me too. There is no going back.

I don’t know what it means that I can see beyond my eyes, but it terrifies me. I crawl closer to him even though the stink of scorched flesh makes me gag. He's dead. I realize that. But he is still the only familiar thing in the darkness. I burrow beneath his arm. Under all the ugly stenches, under the half-burnt shirt, he smells like Rowan. Like the others. Like home. Their names are already fading, fading away. I fall asleep, crying quietly.

Rowan. I’m so sorry.

I’m fading, too. I’m just a ghost. I’m gone.

“_Do you want to go back?_”

No. There is no going back. The light from above blinds me. I curl into a tiny ball, hoping they won’t find me. But they do. At first, he is just a dark silhouette, the bright light behind him making it impossible to discern his features. Someone else stands behind him, someone larger, sharper, harder. But _he_ is gentle, so very gentle. He uncovers me, cautiously lifting me into his arms. I play dead, but he's cleverer than me. His hand touches my throat, feels my pulse, checks me for injuries. I whimper.

“She’s alive.”, he says softly.

“And the boy?”, the other one asks. A long, heavy silence falls.

“He is beyond our help.” Another pause.

“Tell the men to kill the demons who did this.” There is something in his voice. I’m too young to understand that it’s loathing.

“No.”, the other one says calmly. “I’ll do it myself.”

“_Do you want to go back?_”

I am in a small wooden cabin. The ground sways and sways and sways, like the great lungs of an immense creature. It breathes below. In, out. In, out. I like the motion. He is still holding me, rocking from side to side. It comforts me somehow. He hasn’t let go of me since we left the cellar. I can see his face now, his features a bit too delicate to be a human’s. Fine lines and deep-set green eyes, hair as fair as wheat.

“What if she will never be right again, vhenan? The things she’s seen…”

“Not this one.” The other stands close, but I avoid looking at him. His eyes speak of steel and no forgiveness. He scares me. “This one doesn’t break. This one endures.”

“I hope you are right… Perhaps… Should we sing her to sleep?”

There’s an aborted, gruff sound. “You go on. My singing voice is shit.”

“Nonsense.”, the single word is spoken with an indulgent kind of affection. “And don’t talk like that in front of the child.”

A sigh, and then… A song. Deep and gravelly, but strangely harmonious. Pleasant. Safe. 

_“Do you want to go back?”_

No. Please. Don’t make me go back. Don’t make me remember. A pair of eyes watches us from far away. But she never speaks a single word.

* * *

I woke to the dark ceiling beams sheltering the stateroom. The oil in the lamp must have burned away its fuel. Grey twilight suffused everything. Morning mists pressed against the windows, making me feel as if the whole world was contained in this small cabin.

It was barely time for dawn yet. My dream fled away from me, until it was just a blurred, unfathomable picture. A thing forgotten when the darkness of night departs, and reality resumes its work. What had I seen?

I turned my head to find Cullen, still asleep beside me. Cautiously lifting my hand, I let my fingers feather over his bristly jaw. The familiar sensation made me feel tethered, less… disconnected from myself. My light touch didn’t wake him.

His face was pale, his qai gathered closely around his heart, subdued. Signs of discomfort – a nightmare he had retreated from, or a physical uneasiness. He slept more deeply than usual. I studied his features, finding a peculiar serenity in his closeness. My hand drifted to his tattooed arm, palm flattening to the ink. Cullen gave a sigh, and something in him unclenched.

“I don’t want to go back.”, I whispered into the drowsy silence around us. “I want to go on.”

I didn’t quite know why I said that. To be honest, I didn’t even know if I had a choice at all.

People like to imagine a sea voyage as exciting and adventurous. However, the truth of the matter is a little different. There is a routine to a sailing ship which makes the days seem repetitive, and after a while, you lose sense of time.

In the week following our departure from Jader, the Stormchaser traversed the length of the Waking Sea. Usually, such a journey takes ten days or more, depending on weather conditions. But the water and the sky were kind to us, allowing me to weave us forward without hindrance.

We passed the narrow stretch where Kirkwall sat in its bay, the great chains of its harbour looming threateningly above. I had never liked sailing a ship through this drab place. Of course, I had also never set foot into the city itself. A diffuse aura of tired resignation seemed to emanate from it, as if all the population collectively felt the same thing. If ever a city needed cheer, then it was definitely Kirkwall. How had it brought forth someone like Varric?

Later, I brought the ship closer to the southern shore to catch warmer currents. They would ease my weaving. We watched the distant land, the beautiful town of Highever with its castle sitting above like a crowning jewel. In this time, the sea was a vast expanse of azure and sapphire, gracing us with clear horizons and swift winds.

Our decided route would take us through the Amaranthine Channel, and then onward to the south-east, passing by the great bay of Denerim. I usually woke early, so I could take a quick breakfast with Cullen, before I had to brief my father and the higher-ranked sailors. Matthias had always been an expert navigator, a talent which helped us immeasurably every time we plotted our course on the maps.

During the day, I weaved for as long as I dared without overtaxing my qai. I took regular breaks between the Stormchaser’s bursts of speed, but I rarely had any time for myself. A captain’s duties don’t just include commanding the ship – I also had to make sure the crew was content and the soldiers comfortable.

Additionally, there were the special passengers we carried. I spoke with my friends whenever I could, kept Cullen and Alec updated on our progress, and tried to have an open ear for the king as well. I endeavoured to keep the peace between my father and Cullen, both of whom still treated the other with a general coolness. Matthias wasn’t outright ghastly to him anymore, yet he didn’t take any pains to be friendly either. Sometimes, his snide remarks set my teeth on edge, and I wondered how Ariu had lived with him for so long.

Boredom is a real issue on prolonged sea journeys – for anyone who is not a captain. I always had something to do, some problem to resolve, some conversation to have. But most of the people we carried – even the crew – had hours of downtime with no assignments.

There is not much in terms of entertainment on a ship. Sailors know this, so they come up with things to occupy themselves. Especially on the evenings, when I pulled the ship in for the night and had the sails tied up, the crew was allowed some reprieve.

Often the sailors played dice or cards by lamplight, cursing colourfully at each other. I would sometimes find Varric, Alec and the Bull (once in a while even Dorian) among the revelry, telling dirty jokes or hilarious stories. The Inquisition men and the King’s Guard joined the rounds occasionally. The evenings became filled with song, drink and games of chance.

From up on the quarterdeck, I listened to the sea shanties, the soldier ballads, the lively medleys they intoned. Most of the time I was too tired-out to take part in the singing, but I enjoyed sitting on the railing with Cullen’s warm cloak around my shoulders, humming along quietly. He always kept me company, watching the moonlit ocean waves. Sometimes we talked, and sometimes we didn’t, because a bit of calm and silence felt good to both of us.

Those evenings were the only time when the burdens of what lay ahead didn’t feel like they would crush me to a pulp. When the urgency of reaching Ariu before it was too late quieted a little. My days were wearing me threadbare, and my nights were either restless with strange nightmares or much too short to replenish my strength.

Now and then, I caught Cullen casting me worried glances from the corner of his eye, or saw him surveying me with an intense concentration, as if he was trying to look beyond me. I suspected that the stress this whole ordeal was putting on me troubled him. But sometimes, I couldn’t help wondering if it might be something else…

After ten days out at sea, the Stormchaser passed through the Amaranthine Channel and turned towards the South-East. To give everyone some respite from the ship’s confined spaces, we anchored at Amaranthine for a night, taking great care that none of us was recognized – especially not Alistair.

As we moved past the great bay in which Denerim, the capital of Ferelden, sat, I began feeling more and more restless. Leaving the island of Alamar behind us, we sailed into the open ocean.

Ever since we had departed Jader, my peculiar connection to Roslyn seemed to grow stronger. The further we travelled, the clearer I sensed her – like an inner compass pointing me in the right direction.

This was both very useful and very unsettling. Useful because I could plot our course towards where I sensed her more strongly. I didn’t need to search for the Red Dragon as I had thought in the beginning. If I only followed the thread of our connection, I would find her and Ariu.

And it was unsettling, because as the rescue journey went on, Roslyn and I became more intimately acquainted with each other than two strangers should. Before, I had felt her mostly during sleep, in my dreams. But now her presence was with me almost always, day and night. I had no measure of privacy left.

Although she tried her best, retreating as far as possible when I was with Cullen, or in moments where I wished to be alone, it was difficult to ignore the low hum of her consciousness at the back of my mind.

I couldn’t block her out. This fact frightened and agitated me, aside from all else that was going on. Usually when I knew an aura well, I could single it out and choose not to perceive it – but that didn’t work in this case.

On the other hand, Roslyn didn’t suffer as much from our strengthened connection. Likely she didn’t sense it that well, since she was not a weaver trained to be aware of people’s qai. I asked Dorian and Alec for help, but they had no advice for me. Even Cole was clueless and strangely subdued about the matter. I hoped desperately that Ariu would have some way to solve the problem once we rescued him.

* * *

We’d been on the water for two weeks, when I fell asleep one night with a sense of acute urgency. It haunted me into a disturbed slumber, and as soon as I stepped into the diffuse surroundings of the Fade, I was pulled into a dream not my own.

The corridors were wide and long, so much so that I could see neither the end nor the ceilings. Grand paintings were mounted on the solid stone walls, depicting venerable rulers or stunning landscapes. A thick rug beneath my bare feet muffled my steps as I walked the length of the hallway, gazing around in awe. Gilded doors with rustic carvings led off to chambers along the corridor, but they were all shut tight.

Further ahead, I glimpsed a picture twice as tall as me. It was an oil painting of a great battle against a hideous black dragon. Among the many figures fighting it, two stood out in more detail than the others. Wait… I had been here before. In another dream… Or perhaps in the flesh…

A sound drifted to my ears, soft and melodious. Someone sang – a sweet, familiar tune. A lullaby. As if drawn by invisible strings, I followed her voice. It came from a door at the far end of the corridor, left open. I hesitated for only a moment.

The chambers I entered were large and sumptuous, decorated in soft pastel colors. It was immediately clear to me which hand had chosen the furnishings. From the light sandy wood of the desks and cabinets to the floral pattern on the settees, the room spoke of a female resident. And I was right.

One door further into the chambers, Roslyn sat at a delicate dresser beside a giant canopied bed. There was a dried red rose on the wooden surface in front of her. Compared to the solar though, this room looked as though it had been waged war upon. All kinds of clothes were strewn across the carpeted floor, the cupboard drawers ripped open.

The mattress was piled with an assortment of seemingly random items – books, personal things, garments… and a travelling bag. The bed throw lay on the ground as if it had been torn off in a frenzy. There were no sheets. Something about the state of the room seemed strange to me, and it wasn’t the mess. The tiny hairs on my nape rose. Goose-flesh chased down my arms.

Roslyn turned to face me then, and the song she had been singing came to an end. Her gaze held mine steadily, but there was an almost calculating gleam in her eyes.

“That… that was a nice song. You have a good voice.”, I said awkwardly as the silence lengthened. The words felt foreign on my tongue. She didn’t react to my comment. Instead, she looked around the room once.

“You know, Ariu is a really good singer. When I was little, he used to –“

“You are close. Just a few heartbeats away.”, Roslyn interrupted me. Her lilac-blue eyes focused on me again, her expression somewhere between pensive and sharp. I was momentarily taken aback by her odd mood.

“Aye, I… I felt it too. It won’t be long now.”, I answered slowly.

“Sit down, then… I think it is time we are honest with each other.”

Blinking, I walked to the bed – the only free space – and sat down on the edge. Something poked my thigh, so I slid a little sideways.

“I thought we’d been honest with each other from the beginning.”, I mused, confused.

“Not quite. As you might have guessed already, these were my chambers in the royal palace of Denerim.”, Roslyn began.

“You asked me why I left. I didn’t tell you then, because we were both not ready for that story. Look around now. Truly see this room, with my eyes.”

Apprehension built inside me, but I did as she asked. Her memories unfolded before us like scenes woven onto a stunning tapestry. This room had been where they had met countless times, far away from the prying eyes of the court. Where they had shared laughter and luxurious meals – sitting together on the rich rugs in front of the fire. Hours spent in blissful ignorance of the world outside.

For him, it had been the only time in his life when he could truly, entirely be himself. The only place where the burdens of his reign didn’t follow him. And seeing that light in his eyes, the humour in the curve of his smile - even as he left in the morning and they went to their duties for the rest of the day – that was worth anything. Anything at all. She never cared about the court’s disdain. They had faced much worse than a few judgemental ladies and lords.

But then something happened. Something that filled her with joy and elation. At first. Then came the fear. My fingers travelled over the mattress, catching the thing that had poked me before. A baby’s rattle. It made a funny noise when I lifted it, evoking a feeling I had forgotten long, long ago.

I looked at it like a person hypnotized. The missing sheets. The messed-up room. The sadness, always the sadness as she packed her things in the dead of the night, and left.

_I failed him._

_The rose weeps for a future forever lost. A day edged with red, and a secret locked away behind gilded doors._

“You lost a child.”, I said. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Instead, Roslyn stood and walked to the darkened window to gaze out into the night.

“My family was big, when I was a child. I had four siblings. Can you imagine the noise?”, she chuckled quietly to herself. “Still… Life was good. My mother was always laughing, even when she was mad at us. Magic runs strongly in the Amell line. When her two oldest children were taken to the Circles, my mother still kept her good spirits. But then… my sister and my third brother died very young.” 

She fell silent, looking at me over her shoulder. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was, but the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged inside my throat like fish bones.

“Later, the templars took me too. Five children. She lost them all. And losing them made her lose herself. One day, she just… disappeared. No more songs. No more laughter.”

She spoke with a certain detachment, her voice empty of emotion.

“For a long time, I thought I was cursed. That I would never have a family of my own. I had friends in the Circle, but… I never really fit in. And then I joined the Grey Wardens, and met Alistair and the others. On our journeys together, we became a strange little family. Wynne was the wise mother. Zevran was the flirty cousin. Leliana was the good-natured sister, and Morrigan the bad-tempered aunt.” 

Roslyn stopped for an instant, smiling and shaking her head.

“But Alistair… He was my other half. I didn’t think anything could ever separate us. Even when he became king, it didn’t matter to me what the court said. I stayed for him. But he needed an heir, and with both of us afflicted by the Taint, the odds were not in our favour. His advisors knew that, so they pushed him to marry well and set me aside. Despite all that I had done for Ferelden, I was found wanting.” She sighed and rubbed her smooth forehead. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“So… When I realized I was pregnant, I kept it a secret even from Alistair. I just… I didn’t want him to do something impulsive. And it was the right decision, because a month later… I lost it.”

I was not entirely sure I agreed with her, but I kept that thought to myself. Her shame about having failed Alistair made sense now, although I was convinced that he would never see it that way. I took a deep breath.

“I’m very sorry, Roslyn. It must have been… horrible.”

There was a question in her eyes as she looked at me. I didn’t understand it.

“That is the reason why I left. Because if I managed to cure the Taint… Not only would it save other Wardens from a terrible fate, but I would be able to give the man I loved what he needed. I’d make up for having failed him.”

Still holding the rattle in one hand, I stood without really realizing what I did.

“I think you got this wrong. It wasn’t your fault! None of it was.”, I said passionately. “I understand why you kept it a secret, but… You shouldn’t have gone through it alone. And you shouldn’t have left Alistair in the dark about why you went away. He deserves to know.”

“If he had known, he’d never have let me leave.”, Roslyn sighed. “Maybe I should have told him… But then I wouldn’t have met you. I believe we were meant to meet each other.”

A chilly sensation skipped down my spine at her words, like a sliver of ice.

“I…”

“You and I are quite the pair, aren't we? Haunted. Incomplete. Never whole again...” She took a step towards me, her eyes searching my face. Instinctively, I backed away. She followed.

“You know my greatest secret now. Will you tell me yours in turn?”

“I don’t –“

“Will you tell me why you are running from your past? Or am I forced to push you over the edge?”, she demanded, sounding angry now.

I was overcome by a stunning dread, and something inside me reared up in pure resistance, like a wolf’s hackles at the sight of danger. It was so much stronger than the tiny, doubtful part that wondered why I was still in denial.

I whirled around, frantically looking for an escape from the dream, willing myself to wake, wake, wake, be gone from here, get out. But Roslyn had _made_ this place. It was her domain. With a fluent lunge, she leapt at me, her hand closing around my wrist.

“No!”, I cried out, panic swallowing me whole.

It was too late. Images crowded into my mind, and I was helpless against the flood. The sound of a rattle, accompanied by a soothing voice, humming a familiar tune. Faces above my cradle, looking down at me, smiling. Lullabies and laughter.

A hand holding mine in the darkness, so I wasn’t alone when the storms raged. Running, running behind a fluttering sun-colored dress. She fell down but I was the one who cried. That was how close we had been. Silvery-blonde hair gleaming in the light. I always wanted hair like hers.

But I had gotten Mama’s hair instead, black like a raven’s feathers, getting caught inside everything. Rowan helped me to disentangle the curls from bushes, chuckling and calling me a little scarecrow. He loved me.

They all loved me. But they were gone, gone, gone! My mind tried to shy away from the memories, to un-see them, to pretend that they were not mine but someone else’s. Someone I was not. Not anymore.

“Stop running. Please!”, Roslyn begged. She was crying. I was crying too, I think. But the resistance in me was so strong, so old and ingrained. It might just win. I dropped the rattle. Roslyn’s hold on my hand loosened.

“Remember your name –“

* * *

“Selkie!”

With no warning whatsoever, the dream shattered around me. I was violently torn from sleep, my heart thundering up to my eardrums as I woke to see Cullen’s face above me. His expression was stern, features tense. He spoke without preamble.

“You need to get ready right now, love. There is an island ahead.”

I stared at him blankly. My neck was damp with cold fear-sweat. The shock of my dream had taken root deep within my bones. For a moment, I didn’t understand a single thing in this world.

“Maker, you’re shaking…”, Cullen worried, looking me over thoroughly.

“N-nightmare.”, I stuttered. It was nearly impossible to regain my composure, but I forcefully pushed the insanity I'd just witnessed out of my mind. I cannot rightly describe how much effort it took.

“What… what did you say?”

He helped me into my coat, his eyes troubled. My movements were wooden and shaky.

“The lookout spotted a small island ahead. It’s manned. We are not sure if it’s the Venatori, but Alistair said…”

“It’s them.” I had no doubts. I could sense Roslyn, closer than ever before.

“The Red Dragon?”, I asked. Cullen shook his head.

“No sign of the ship anywhere.”

I nodded. “Then we have to be quick. What time is it?”

“Barely dawn yet.”, he answered as we exited the cabin. On our way out, I grabbed my sabre and strapped it to my belt. The others were already armed and prepared for battle, standing in a group at the bowsprit.

“Report!”, I addressed Matthias, my eyes scanning the water ahead.

I could see the small island as a dark silhouette rising against the grey twilight of the early morning. There was barely enough room for a large building on it, but some sort of structure had been erected at the centre. A few torches were lit at the edge, and faint firelight burned in a few of the windows. 

“I kept us on course after you went to sleep, as we had decided. Kitten has the sharpest eyes, so I put her up into the crow’s nest. A few minutes ago, she spotted the island.”, my father explained. “It’s as if you knew exactly where to lead us.”

“This must be one of the abandoned outposts I read about in history books.”, Alistair interjected. “When Ferelden was still young, they were manned to protect us against pirates. But that was centuries ago. I was convinced the strong-houses had fallen to ruin by now.”

“Not all of them, it seems.”, Alec said. “We don’t have the element of surprise. They've seen us.”

“Direct approach is better anyway. Time to break some Venatori skull!” The Bull was cracking his knuckles. I grated my teeth. We were at a disadvantage. I didn’t like the idea of putting us into jeopardy like that. When I looked at Cullen for advice, he nodded.

“They must have a pier to dock ships. If you can pull us in there, our mages and archers can give the others cover from behind the railing. It’s not ideal, but it will be our best shot.”, he implored me.

A second of agonizing indecision passed. But ultimately, I knew I could trust my friends. I turned to the sailors and my father.

“Take in the sails, quickly. Then get into cover. Father, take the helm and help me navigate.” They went to work at once. To the others, I said: “Get behind the railing, and hold on to something. This is going to get bumpy.”

When they had all crouched down on either sides of me, I cast a glance behind me to check if Matthias was ready. He would be my eyes for this. Although I could vaguely make out the place where I needed to manoeuvre the ship, he had a much better vantage point up on the quarterdeck. Ainsley had gone to get our soldiers, and now they were also lining up on our port-side.

I took a deep breath, and let my qai drop into the sea like a stone. Up we go. I drew upon the water beneath us, lifting it at the stern. Weaving an entire frigate with no help from wind or momentum is incredibly taxing. But on that little island was Ariu, and Roslyn – and I had to save them. I was so close. I could not fail.

The Stormchaser’s hull tilted, lurching violently. She tipped forward, almost like someone diving head-first into unknown waters. Setting my teeth, I pulled her into a curving arc when I sensed my father working the rudder. The force of my magic made the whole vessel lean sideways as it turned. Balance, keep your balance. I made a stand against the teetering, forcing the sea past our hull with everything I had. My tattoos were like a searing brand on my back. Sweat trickled down my spine.

The first fireball soared above my head and hit the foremast, exploding with an ear-splitting blast. Dorian and Alec stood suddenly, launching counterattacks from their staves with stunning speed. The archers darted from cover to let loose their arrows into the Venatori mages who were casting spells down at the pier.

I struggled to summon up sheets of water for their protection, but dividing my attention this way almost made me lose my footing. We weren’t in position to disembark yet. The pressure inside my head felt like my brain had swollen to twice its size, pushing against my skull, ready to crack it open. But I did. Not. Budge. 

“Selkie! Concentrate on the ship! We can take care of them!”, Cullen yelled. He jumped up and deflected a fiery projectile with his shield.

A fork of lightning missed me by a hair’s breadth, and I had to sidestep, barely able to turn us so we wouldn’t crash into the docks. Runes flared up around me, a shield enchantment woven by Alec. Varric was taking out our enemies one by one with well-aimed crossbow bolts, while the Bull gave him cover and taunted the mages below.

“What were you aiming for, princess?! You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn! Try again!”

“We’re in position, Selkie!”, my father called. I brought us to a halt, and the next I knew, two sailors rushed in to lower the gangplank.

“Selkie! Water jump!”, the Bull yelled.

And then – insane as he was – the Qunari jumped right over the sailors into empty air. Panicked beyond words, I threw my arms up. A torrent erupted between the ship and the pier, just missing the lowering gangplank. The water caught the Bull’s giant form and carried him a few feet ahead. He landed between two stunned Venatori mages, swinging his axe in a wide arc. The unlucky bastards were fell before they could cast a single spell.

“Ready to disembark!”

The plank hit the pier, and then everyone was in motion. The archers shot, the mages hurled ice and fire, and the warriors swarmed out onto the island, with Cullen shouting concise orders at them from the rear. I darted down the gangplank myself, drawing my weapon. Alec and Dorian were right in front of me, felling hapless foes from afar. When one enemy got too close, Alec suddenly pirouetted around and bashed him over the head with his staff. The man sank to the ground with an aborted cry.

“You should stay here where it’s safe, Selkie.”, Alec warned me, his face tense. A ball of fire flew above our heads, hitting the Stormchaser’s side. My qai was already strained, but I made the water whip up to quell the flames with one swift motion.

“No.”, I said as I turned back to Alec. “Ariu is in there! I’m going!”

The battle seemed to be turning in our favour. As I hurried between the pockets of fighting, occasionally slashing out at unsuspecting Venatori, I saw that we were gaining ground quickly. The building we had seen from the ship was a stronghouse indeed. Two stories high and made from solid grey stone, the damages time had done to it had been patched up by the Venatori who’d made their nest here. It worried me that we hadn’t seen any sign of the Red Dragon – or the man who hunted me. But there was no time for hesitation.

Cullen had advanced to the front of the battlefield. With Alistair and the Bull by his side, they were pushing the thinning enemy forces back to the stronghouse walls. Varric cleverly took out the two archers on the roof, and some of the Venatori seemed to realize that they were losing against our men. A few quick ones fled into the building, while the slower ones were left outside, banging helplessly against the doors. The Bull dealt with them swiftly.

“Cullen!”, I called out, jumping over a motionless body to hurry to him. He was pulling his sword free from a mage’s corpse when I arrived. The Bull and Alistair were trying to pry the doors open. Everywhere around us, the fighting was slowly dying down. There were some last clangs of swords or moans of pain. But I heard fewer and fewer of them.

“Selkie. You should have stayed –“, Cullen began, wiping blood and sweat from his face.

“Never mind that.”, I interrupted. “Is it over? Is everyone okay?”

He looked around. Ainsley and my father were a few feet away, just sheathing their swords.

“Check for casualties. Tell Alec and Dorian to see to our injured. Then muster all who can still fight and –“

Cullen’s command was cut short by a loud crashing sound when the Bull drove his axe so forcefully into the door, the wood splintered. He simply hacked his way through it. It took three more assaults for the doors to burst open completely. And as soon as the way was clear, Alistair rushed forward.

“Wait!”, Cullen shouted. “We should regroup before –“

“Fuck that. I’m going now.”, the king gritted. Cullen let out a colorful curse.

“I knew your king would do something stupid like this.”, he hissed, climbing through the wreckage and into the darkened hallway. It wasn’t wide enough for more than one person, so I vaulted over the splintered wood and followed behind him.

“_My_ king? We agreed that on land, he is _your_ king.”, I whispered, the rush of the battle making me giddy. I heard the Bull’s rumbling chuckle at my back.

There was a lone torch in a sconce on the wall. Cullen took it from its place to illuminate the near blackness in the windowless corridor. A few doors stood open on either side, showing living quarters with sleeping pallets for the residents. Light fell onto several dead bodies, but they were uninjured. Their eyes had rolled up into their heads, making them look downright grotesque. I shivered, swallowing down my mounting hysteria.

“Probably drank poison, like the harlequin. To escape capture and questioning.”, Cullen murmured.

“Gotta hand it to these guys. They don’t mess around.”, the Bull said.

“We should move on.”

It wasn’t difficult to find the path Alistair had taken. We came into a wide room I suspected to be some kind of shared space for the soldiers who’d been stationed here once. Overturned desks and chairs littered the ground, books and lamps lay carelessly where they’d fallen.

Two Venatori corpses were face-down on the floor, the sword cuts on their bodies obviously the king’s handiwork. Beside a door leading deeper into the stronghouse, a mage was desperately trying to staunch the blood gushing from a deadly wound in his gut. Even without a healer’s knowledge, I knew he wasn’t long for this world. Cullen grabbed the man by the collar and shook him.

“You! What were you doing here? Where is Claudio? Where are the prisoners?”, he barked, but the mage’s eyes only stared at him without comprehension. He made a low, agonized sound, going limp in Cullen’s grip.

“The Seeker… will find you…”, he rasped. “He’ll bring glory… to the Elder One. I’ll be reborn… into the new world…”

“Don’t count on it.”, the Bull scoffed.

“Clear your conscience and tell us what you know.”, Cullen commanded him. The man didn’t seem to hear the words. With tremendous effort, he lifted his head, and his eerie, deep-set gaze found me. He smiled, but it looked like a grimace on his pain-twisted face.

“Blood of Elya. He knew… you’d come.” Then he went into a coughing fit. I covered my mouth with one hand to hide my revulsion. Although I had killed before, I had never truly seen the horrors of a real battle. Not like this. Cullen drew a dagger from his belt.

“Look away, Selkie.”, he told me calmly.

“I –“

“Listen to him, little one. When there is nothing else to be done, a clean death is the last mercy we can give.”, the Bull said. I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut. But I still heard the slash of the knife, the gurgle. I sensed the gush of life-force leaving through a slit throat.

“Onward.”, Cullen said a moment later.

Another corridor. It smelled dank and mouldy, horribly reminding me of a different place. A cellar. No. Not now. Don’t think about it now.

I walked behind Cullen with my blade drawn, constantly telling myself to stay calm. Cool like water. It didn’t help much against the tremble in my hands.

Ariu, I thought. Ariu is what matters. These people had tortured him. They deserved to die. But no matter how much I tried to smother the feelings inside me, a spark of compassion remained. Is it that spark that makes us human? Why did it all have to come to this?

More dead bodies, cut down by a master swordsman. Alistair had come this way. We passed through a chamber designed for torture and experimentation, filled with nauseating contraptions I didn’t even want to take a closer look at.

Part of the chamber was a laboratory. Vials of blood and other, more dubious substances were arranged neatly on some sort of alchemical table. Open books in Tevinter writing. Lancets. Ugly instruments. Those were only a few of the items we found here.

And then, finally, we arrived into the holding cells. The warden lay slumped over his desk, blood dripping down onto the damp, dirty floor. Without hesitation, I pushed past Cullen. The five or so cells in the room were all protected by rusty, thick bars which had somehow withstood the test of time. A rancid stink curled up my nose, almost making me retch. I remembered it from my vision of Ariu. Rotting straw, blood, sickness… and other, much more revolting things.

My feet carried me in a run, right to the small, flickering qai of my father. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alistair holding Roslyn in his arms, but I didn’t pay them any heed. I kneeled down beside Ariu’s emaciated body. He had never been a man of broad stature, but now he was barely more than skin stretching over bones.

“Papa.”, I sniffed as the tears came. He lay on the filthy ground, curled in around himself protectively. I took off my coat and carefully wrapped it around him. He almost disappeared in it. My ministrations woke him, and he groaned out his pain.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I’m so sorry.” I tried to be mindful of his injuries, but there were so many… I didn’t know where to touch him without causing him agony. Ariu’s eyes opened. Instead of brilliant green, they were milky grey. Blind.

“Selkie.”, he whispered, his voice hoarse and yet strangely strong.

“Oh Maker, what did they do to you? What did they do to your eyes?”, I wailed in despair. “I’m going to drown them all!”

The sea outside rumbled furiously, crashing against the rocky shore with a vengeance. Retribution. Retribution for me and mine. Her fury mirrored the rising tide in my heart. Brittle fingers closed around mine. I felt a tug on my magic, so familiar. So dear.

“Calm yourself.”, Ariu said gently. “You know I never needed eyes to see.” He squeezed my hand. It was barely a touch, but as always, it reminded me to keep control.

“Papa… Dad… You’re safe now. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

I bent down to him, brushing my forehead tenderly against his thin hair. It was caked with mud and refuse. Weeping quietly, I held him, this skeletal shell that had once been a wonderful man full of life and whimsy.

Some time passed. I don’t know how much. It didn’t matter. There was activity and quiet conversation around us, but I don’t remember what it was about. At length, Cullen’s voice reached me. He touched my shoulder cautiously.

“Selkie… We need to get him out of here. See to his injuries. Alec can –“ But he was interrupted by another voice.

“Let me through to my husband, Commander.” The next I knew, Matthias kneeled down on Ariu’s other side, his arms reaching out. I released Ariu reluctantly, but kept holding on to his hand.

“Matthias! You escaped.”, Ariu rasped with genuine surprise. His bafflement almost made me smile through my tears. I wiped my eyes quickly and took a fortifying breath.

“So that’s how much faith you have in my abilities. Good to know.”

I glanced to the door, where two soldiers were just coming through, carrying a stretcher.

“Ah, vhenan. I missed that cynical tone of yours. I never lost hope. Hope is what kept me alive this long.”

“It’s our turn to do that now, Dad.”, I soothed him.

We loaded him onto the stretcher as gently as possible, and with my Matthias’s help, the men began making their way outside with Ariu. Cullen was giving orders to comb the rest of the stronghouse for any survivors.

Alistair was helping Roslyn to stand. I felt her gaze on me like an arrow between my shoulder-blades. I looked back at her for the time it took to see if she was seriously injured. Then I turned and left.

_“Do you want to go back?”_

No. I didn’t. But I’d been right. I never had a choice. Because blood remembers.


	38. XXXVIII. Shed Your Former Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!!! Here's a new chapter <3 it's a bit short, but I had to make it so for what will be next *ominous hints*   
Still, it contains a few explanations which clear the mystery of Selkie's real family up :) Thank you so much for your comments, I love that you liked the twists and turns! We are really approaching the big finale now~   
Life should slow down a bit for me, so I hope you won't have to wait this long for the next chapter again <3   
Have fun reading!!

### XXXVIII. Shed Your Former Skin

The Vanguard

* * *

I believe everyone was equally glad to leave the ugly little prison island. Ariu had been settled onto a pallet of soft blankets on the deck, refusing adamantly to be brought to a cabin. He, Selkie and Matthias argued for a while, but then bent to the elf’s will reluctantly. Neither of us knew how much time he still had – even after being tended to by Dorian and Alec, he seemed to be fading. There was just too much wrong with him, too much privation and injury.

Selkie knew it – she’d probably known for weeks, but to my surprise she bore it well. She didn’t try to force Ariu into treatments he refused, and simply ordered everyone to make life as comfortable for him as possible. I think he preferred the balmy sea-breeze to the stuffy air inside a cabin.

Roslyn had fared much better than Ariu. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t been tortured, except for a few healed cuts on her arms where the Venatori had drawn blood from her for their experiments. The king was with her when she came up the plank, supporting her with one arm. Her step was only a little unsteady.

Still, I could see the long weeks of imprisonment in the sallowness of her complexion, the sunken cheeks where she had lost flesh. But, as Selkie had said, there was something about her that defied adversity.

I stood on deck, watching as the sailors readied the Stormchaser for departure. Our Inquisition soldiers had cleaned themselves up after the battle, and were now conversing with the King’s Guard.

“I really am alright, Alistair. You needn’t fuss that much.”, Roslyn said, her voice thinner than I remembered but still clear. I glanced at them without being overly obvious.

“I believe that when a healer tells me so.”, the king retorted curtly, while she struggled to extricate herself from his hold. Her long, silvery-blonde hair had lost some of its shine, but her eyes flashed with defiance. And hurt.

“_I am a healer_!”, Roslyn protested. Alistair was not deterred.

“A different healer.” There followed an exasperated sigh, before she caught sight of me. Her eyes widened.

“I know you.”, the Hero of Fereleden, flame of my boyhood years, said, astonishment spreading across her features. “I didn’t see it before, it was all so chaotic… _Cullen_?”

I had almost hoped she wouldn’t recognize me. The last time we had spoken to each other had not exactly ended well. On the contrary. I’d said terrible things to her. Sighing, I turned to face my shameful past.

“Roslyn. It’s been a long time. I am glad we arrived before it was too late. Are you injured?”, was all I could think of to say. She looked me over thoroughly for an instant.

“I’m fine. They took some blood every few days, and did some… other things, but I have always healed fast.” Roslyn’s eyes flickered to Ariu on his pallet. A salty wind ruffled the greying wisps of his hair. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully for now.

“He had a much worse time of it. They hurt him, and every time they took him away, he was less when they returned him to the cell.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment. Alistair kept his silence beside her, but his gaze surveyed me shrewdly.

“So, you are with the Inquisition now? You left the templars?”, Roslyn went on, a distinct note of caution in her voice.

“Yes, I…” But before I could formulate an answer, we were interrupted by Selkie coming down the stairs from the quarterdeck. Matthias stood at the top, scowling at me as usual. Selkie spared Roslyn and the king only a fleeting, inscrutable glance as she approached me.

“As soon as the last man is aboard, we are pulling anchor and I will weave us out of here. I want to leave this place. We need to get Ariu to Skyhold as quickly as possible…”

“Denerim would be much closer. I can have the best healers ready to see him the moment we pull into port.”, Alistair interjected, his tone solemn. Selkie’s gaze swerved to him, passing over Roslyn as if she wasn’t present.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”, she said stiffly. “But I think we have caused you enough trouble.”

“Nonsense –“, the king began, but Selkie was already turning away from him. I moved to speak, and yet whatever I’d meant to say never came to be. Roslyn stunned us all speechless.

“_Iris._”

Selkie stopped short mid-turn, her entire stance going so rigid, she looked as though carved from stone.

“Won’t you look at me, Iris? Or do you still not remember your sister? After all the dreams we shared these past weeks, don’t you remember me?”

The shocked silence that fell was like a slap to the face. The king of Ferelden’s jaw dropped. I have no idea what expression was on my face, but I suppose it was something similar to the sheer disbelief on Alistair’s.

Selkie turned her head infinitesimally, and their eyes met for an instant. They were the same shape. Tip-tilted, with expressive, winged brows. It was the only true resemblance between them. You had to really, _really_ look for it. But once you saw it… There was no doubt.

“No, I remember.”, Selkie said slowly. “I didn’t want to, but you… you pushed on.”

“Andraste’s lacy knickers. Selkie is… your lost sister?”, Alistair’s stupor broke first.

“Lost? No. _Dead._ You were dead! Mother wept over the charred little body. We burned what was left, together with Rowan. She was never right again!”, Roslyn nearly yelled.

Selkie flinched as though knifed, her lids fluttering. She looked haunted.

“You… left us there. Nobody came for us.” Her voice quivered and broke.

“That’s not true, Iris. Father came back for you, but he could never get through. They dragged him out, cut his leg. He nearly died. We came back the next day with soldiers, but the raiders were gone. And we only found the remains. I thought you had died… For twenty years, I _thought you dead_. But here you stand. Iris, please. _Look at me_.”, Roslyn pleaded brokenly, but her sister seemed unable to grant her request.

A violent shiver went through Selkie, and in the fleeting look she gave me, I saw the agony she felt.

“Don’t… _Don’t_ call me that. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

And then she whirled around, fleeing us all. Instantaneously I started to follow her, but a firm grip around my arm stopped me. I turned and found myself looking at Matthias’s harsh features. He wore an expression of grim acceptance.

“Let her be, for now. You can go to her in a little while.”, the former captain proposed tacitly. Roslyn squirmed free from Alistair’s hold. For a second, I thought she would strike Cornwall. But in the end, she pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You took her even though she still had family! _You let us believe she was dead_!” Her voice rose to a high pitch. Both the king and I flinched, but none of us dared to intervene. Matthias sighed, yet he didn’t look the least bit intimidated by Roslyn’s anger.

“We didn’t know at first. There were a dozen burnt bodies in the tavern ruins, we thought that the whole family had perished. Ariu found her in the cellar, next to her brother. We believe he died during the night, his burns too severe. Our first concern was to get her away from there. We were too close to Kirkwall, and the templars were still looking for us back then. By the time we learned that your family had survived, we were as far north as Rivain.”, Matthias explained without inflection.

“Please tell me what happened.”, I bade Roslyn, who was still glowering at Matthias. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

“Twenty years ago, our family made a trip to Cumberland. It was some political thing, but they took us with them. Me, my brother Rowan and… Iris. My other two brothers were already taken away by the templars. Iris is… was my youngest sibling, my only sister. We were inseparable. I didn’t understand until much later, but even when we were little and our magical power hadn’t shown, we… dreamed together. I’d wake from a nightmare she was having, and she’d laugh at silly things I saw while I slept. Maker, I loved her so much.” She fell silent, drawing the cloak Alistair had draped over her shoulders closer to herself.

“We stayed the night in a village on the coast, in a tavern. Raiders came. They pillaged and set fire to everything, killing as they went. Our guards were slaughtered. My mother managed to flee with me, but… Rowan and Iris were trapped inside the tavern. My father went back and… nearly got killed. We had to wait out the night before we could go to the next village for help. When we came back, we found only ruins and charred corpses. We grieved. Oh, how we grieved.” Her voice had grown hoarse from speaking for so long. She resumed glaring at Matthias.

“_Why?_ Why did you take her?”

Cornwall opened his mouth, but it was Ariu’s voice that spoke from the other side of the deck.

“Roslyn. Come here, please.” With the dignity of a queen, Roslyn approached the wounded elf. We all followed her, forming a half-circle around Ariu. Matthias helped him to sit up, his face stony and expressionless. The man really was a damn rock.

“I recognized you almost immediately, in the prison. Always had one eye on you, over the years. I’m… very sorry for the pain caused to your family. Selkie – she was so young. I knew your grandmother, Revka’s birth-mother. She was an elf, a Waterweaver. My mentor for… many years.”

Ariu paused his tale to regain control over his breathing. I recognized the same technique Selkie used when she breathed through pain or distress, only Ariu did it with a finesse that amazed me. The mastery of finding the tipping point, and hovering there. He was a true savant, and he’d taught his daughter well.

“Hence I also knew that the gift ran in your family’s blood. All Amell children had magic, but only… Selkie had the gift. I wanted to approach you, quietly, to train her. We live… in secret. We have hidden for many generations. Matthias and I took her in when we thought her family had perished. We gave her a new name. No matter how we tried to talk to her about the raider attack, she reacted with… Denial. She pushed that memory into non-existence. Then, when I learned that the Amells still lived, I asked her outright. ‘Do you want to go back?’ She started crying and said: ‘There is no going back. Don’t send me away!’ I wondered, more often than I can count, if she truly did not remember… or if she chose not to. My conscience burned with guilt. But I… couldn’t find it in my heart to part with her. I hope that one day, you will forgive me.”

His speech had sapped him of the little strength he might have regained. Eyes closing, he let out a deep sigh and allowed Matthias to lay him back down onto the blankets.

“Leave us. Please.”, Matthias said in an uncharacteristically pleading voice, avoiding all our gazes. I walked to the bowsprit with Roslyn and Alistair, all three of us still needing to digest what we had learned. The king looked both unsettled and openly sympathetic. It was him who broke the silence first.

“It must have been deeply traumatizing for her. Watching you flee without her. Watching her brother die.”, he said cautiously, gently.

“Selkie feared fire all her life. She told me she didn’t know where it came from. But she wouldn’t go near it, not even to heat a pot of tea.”, I added in a low murmur.

“It’s not right, what happened. But she lives. She’ll come to terms with the past, Roslyn.” 

“His Majesty is right. She always finds her footing again.” Our words seemed to reassure her, since she exhaled and relaxed just a tiny bit. Alistair flicked me a thankful glance. I caught the surreptitious movement of his hand as it lifted to wrap around Roslyn’s shoulders. He stopped, hand hovering in mid-air, hesitating. I knew this was my cue to leave.

“I believe we will depart shortly. For myself, I have seen enough of this island to last me a lifetime. I’ll send a healer to see to you. Your Majesty, my lady.” They both nodded distractedly to my bow.

I didn’t hesitate to go searching for Selkie, soon finding out that she had retreated to the stern. Even from afar, her rigid posture signalled that she didn’t want company. Shoulders stiff, her back resolutely turned. I approached her anyway. It’s almost impossible to sneak up on Selkie when she is awake – so I wasn’t surprised when she spoke before I had announced my presence.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I walked up to her side while she continued staring at the waves.

“Alright.”, I said quietly. As I cautiously reached an arm around her slender shoulders, she darted a step away from me. Averting her face, she shook her head.

“I’m serious – I _can’t_… It’s too much. I can’t deal with this now.” Although she struggled to infuse her voice with steadiness, it wobbled dangerously.

“You don’t have to deal with it if you don’t want to.” I shifted closer to her, but gradually. Right now, she was in a precarious state. Close to a breaking point. I could almost feel how twenty years of denial battled the inevitable return of a life she had vowed never to remember again.

“Stop agreeing with me!”, Selkie snarled, turning abruptly to face me. Her face was distorted by conflicting expressions. Sparks of bright blue fury glinted in her eyes, but… her cheeks were wet with tears.

“I’m so angry! I’m so… so _angry,_ I don’t even know who I’m angry at! Everyone – everything –“ 

I knew how it felt, being overcome by a fury so irrational and having nothing to direct it at. How it felt to be angry at the whole world because life plays its cruel tricks on you. She flew at me, and I let her. I let her pound her fists against my breastplate, let her vent that ugly, vicious anger.

It didn’t hurt me, and she needed to get those feelings out, or they might have consumed her. When her strikes lost strength, I caught her by the wrists so she wouldn’t make a mess of her hands. I pulled her into my arms. For a split second, she tensed up. Then her body went lax against me, crumpling like a limp puppet. She sobbed quietly.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”, I heard her sniff.

“Don’t be, love. It’s alright. It’s alright to be angry.”

I held her until she calmed down. Eventually, Selkie extricated herself from my embrace and took a tremendous breath. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and squared her shoulders.

“Thank you… For… for understanding.”, she said softly, meeting my gaze. I knew it cost her much to do so. She was likely ashamed of her outbreak.

“I should get us out of here. The sooner, the better.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest a bit?”, I couldn’t help asking, worried that she was overtaxing herself. Selkie shook her head.

“No, it’s fine. Weaving will distract me. And we are too vulnerable… With Ariu and the other injured on board, I don’t want to risk a meeting with the Red Dragon.”

I leaned down to kiss her forehead. The light touch of her hand on my cheek gave me hope that she had – at least outwardly – regained her composure.

With a slightly stiff posture, Selkie returned to the front of the ship. It seemed Alistair had taken Roslyn to his cabin below deck for a rest – and the two of them surely had much to talk about, too. Alec and Dorian were seeing to our injured soldiers. Varric and the Bull were talking to Old Sam. All three looked unharmed.

A little later, when everything was settled for departure, we left the island behind again. Selkie turned the Stormchaser back into the direction where we’d come from. Her weaving was gentler now, filled with less urgency than before. She had rushed us here as fast as she could, and now that we had rescued Ariu and Roslyn, she granted both the ship and the crew a bit of reprieve.

Although the sky was overcast, the weather wasn’t especially cold. Sleep-deprivation and battle-exhaustion weighed more heavily on me as the morning passed into afternoon, but I stayed up on the quarterdeck, absent-mindedly watching Selkie weave. 

“Commander.”, Ariu’s calm voice carried over the soft rush of the waves, rousing me from my half-trance. “A moment, if you have it?”

I went over to where he sat propped against the ship’s railing, his blind eyes focusing on me unerringly. Matthias stood by his side, arms crossed and expression forbidding. He had given the wheel to Old Sam for today. I wondered if he would ever look at me with anything but rejection.

“Ser.”, I announced politely, giving both of them a short bow. “Are you comfortable? Do you require anything?”

The elven mage dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand. Instead, he scrutinized me so thoroughly, I felt turned inside-out. I suspected that nothing escaped this man’s notice. 

“What does he look like, Matthias?”, Ariu questioned with genuine curiosity. Cornwall made a face as if he’d bitten into something sour.

“Like he fell down an ugly tree and hit every branch.”, the spiteful man answered. To my surprise, Ariu gave a resounding laugh.

“That is the most transparent lie I have ever heard. So, he’s handsome then.”

Matthias gave a defeated sigh. “Sadly, yes. Your daughter certainly knows how to pick them.”

“_My_ daughter? Ha!”, Ariu scoffed. “Stop staring holes into the man and make yourself scarce, _vhenan_.”

I was a little bit stunned when Matthias obeyed him, walking away from us with a grudging nod at me. I was left alone with Ariu, who exhaled in relief.

“I apologize for his behaviour. He is too set in his ways. Obstinate to his last breath.”

“He despises me.”, I noted, not really hiding my bitterness about the fact. Ariu smiled faintly.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. It’s… how do you call it? Paternal jealousy.”

“I’m sorry?”, I blurted.

“Something all fathers have to deal with, sooner or later, when their daughters grow up and leave the nest for good.”, Ariu said, his voice pensive.

“Saying that Matthias doesn’t excel at dealing with emotional issues would be an understatement. He was raised by the streets of Kirkwall. His own father – a sailor – never took responsibility for his son, and his mother died very young. Orphaned, he ran with the urchins and the gangs, until a templar saw him fight his way out of a tight spot and took him to the Gallows to be trained. Life was harsh to him, and that left a mark. Then again… It seems that is something you two have in common.”

He tilted his head inquiringly.

“I suppose that is true.”, I said.

“Whenever he is tough on you, he thinks about Selkie. To him, the world is a cruel and unforgiving place, where men leave their women and trust is something rare and hard-won. He tests you, because that’s the only way he can make sure you’ll take good care of our daughter.”

“What about you, ser?”, I wondered. “Will you test me too?”

Ariu scoffed and shook his head.

“My husband is too stubborn to understand that it’s not his place to test you, nor is it mine. You already passed the ultimate test, when you received that.”, he lifted a hand and pointed at my left arm.

“Had there been hesitation in you, or doubt, or any resistance – that would not have worked. The foundation of the ritual of balance isn’t magic or skill. It’s the willingness to give a part of yourself away, knowing it will be safe. The purest form of trust. Accepting it means accepting the great responsibility that comes with it.”

He paused, a surprised smile on his face.

“But you already knew that!”

“I did, ser.”, I said earnestly.

“Good. I’m glad our knowledge is safe with you. I’m glad my daughter found someone she trusts so completely.”, Ariu said, still smiling. We were both silent as he turned his head towards the sea. The grey-blue waves undulated, rising and falling as a brisk wind rippled across the water. 

“Ser… Do you think that…”, I began eventually, unsure how to phrase my question. “That the situation between Selkie and Roslyn will resolve itself?”

Ariu didn’t answer at once. For a moment, he frowned at the waves.

“I’m not sure. The shock of it is still fresh in both of them. Imagine twenty years of repressed feelings, coming back all at once… But… I very much hope so.” He breathed in deeply through his nose.

“I smell rain on the wind. A storm is coming.”, Ariu said in a quiet, ominous voice.

“Let us hope she is ready for it.”

Apprehensively, I wondered if he meant the ship itself, or the captain. 


	39. XXXIX. The Heart of Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, here we go with the ominous chapter title! I had difficulties with this one, and I'm still not sure it's good enough... It's not easy to do all the things that are happening proper justice.  
Thank you so much for still reading and commenting, even though I'm letting you wait for these last few chapters! It's a lot of work and self-criticism, to bring such an elaborate story to a good finale...   
Stay home and healthy my dears! I hope you enjoy reading <3 Have fun!

### XXXIX. The Heart of Chaos

The Weaver

* * *

When I was fifteen years old, Ariu came down with an ugly lung sickness. He grew terribly weak over time, the constant coughing draining his strength. I was terrified that he would die, even though he did recover fully. I never admitted this to myself, but I hadn’t just feared for him. I’d feared for myself. My fathers were the bonds connecting me to my life as Selkie. Without them, I had nothing but ashes and pain, and a name I had long forgotten. Perhaps this was why in hindsight, I would come to see the Tidedancer’s destruction as the first stone in the slow avalanche of my reawakening memories.

Iris. My name had been Iris.

Mother had named all her children after plants. She’d been both kind and strict, like a mother should be. Her dark hair had smelled of thyme, and the touch of her hands had meant that everything would be alright. That there was nothing to be afraid of. And Roslyn… How had I not seen it right at the beginning? How had I looked her in the eye and not felt that I was looking at my own flesh and blood? Would it have changed anything at all?

I’d wanted to rescue Ariu, and I had. But had I really _saved_ him? I sensed how he clung to life with the remaining strength he had, and yet his qai seemed to flicker like a candle in the wind. I didn’t know how to make him whole again. There were some injuries no amount of healing magic could ease. Every time I thought about it, a paralyzing hopelessness gripped me, and I could barely breathe. 

On the outside, I weaved the tides and took us away from the prison island without looking back. On the inside, I seethed. It didn’t abate. The night after the rescue, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. All the anxiety, the anger, the madness of what I’d been through lately coiled and wound in my stomach like a pit of vicious serpents.

What was worse? The outlook of losing my father twice, or realizing that for most of my life I’d falsely accused my family of abandoning me? What a cruel joke fate has played on me! I was furious with my fathers, because they had never pushed me to reunite with my other family. I was furious with Roslyn, because she had simply accepted that I was dead. I hated her for that clean grief, and I hated her for the oblivious life she’d lived.

For all the years where I’d been a pile of ashes, buried in some grave. I was a ghost to her. A stranger. I didn’t want to know her. I didn’t want to hear of the two decades she’d spent without me. Of all the things I’d missed. Of all the things we could have shared. I wanted to keep living the lie that they’d left me, because if I acknowledged the truth, then… It was too painful. It was… it was…

Even as I tried to swallow it down, a wounded sound escaped my throat. Anger ate at me, chewing away my insides. But it didn’t feel like anger anymore. It was misery. The injustice of it all…

“Sweetheart.”, I heard Cullen whisper softly. “Come here.” The next moment, he’d drawn me close to him, his strong arms around me. I didn’t speak. I listened to his deep, steady breaths, to the calm beat of his heart. Slowly, the movement of his chest lulled me into a peaceful stillness.

Now and then, the windows rattled in their hinges, buffeted by the rising winds outside. The hull moved restlessly, sometimes lurching as though in free fall. Beneath us, the waters churned, teeming with portents. Agitated and angry, the sea prepared herself for a storm. Just like my wretched heart, she could not find rest until she had released the floodgates.

“It was easier.”, I said, pressing my forehead against Cullen’s chest. “To forget it all. To not acknowledge the possibility that they had left me deliberately. Selkie was not Iris. Iris died in that cellar. At least that is what I always told myself.”

He listened silently, threading his fingers through my hair.

“It was foolish and cowardly… I know it was. But… forgetting was how I _survived_. How I endured…” I trailed away, unable to properly explain myself. But with Cullen, I rarely needed to. His next words proved that.

“I understand.” Pausing, he seemed to ponder what to say carefully. “Don’t blame yourself for surviving such a tragedy in any way you could. Brave men have been broken by less.” Gently, he tipped my chin up. I saw his handsome, familiar features in the dim light of the single burning oil lamp. His eyes gleamed like embers in a fire.

“You are no coward, my love. When I look at you, I see the ocean in your eyes, and all that it can be. Daring and fierce. Mysterious and gentle. But _never_ a coward. Always hold your head high, Selkie. Be proud of yourself.”

“But…”, I began uncertainly. “What should I do now? My fathers are my family, and they always will be. Nothing can replace them… I don’t even know _this_ Roslyn… I knew the Roslyn who liked gingerbread and heroic stories and red ribbons in her hair. But this person… This elegant, poised almost-queen…”

“Would you like to know her?”, Cullen asked gently.

“I’m… I’m not sure.”, I answered, ashamed of my mixed feelings.

“There is no magical way to fill twenty years of absence all at once. It takes time, sweetheart. Start small. Talk to her, if you want to. For weeks, you have shared much of yourself with her, and she with you – involuntarily, but still. You are not strangers. Follow your instincts on this.”

I looked up at him doubtfully, then sighed out a resigned breath.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s good enough for now.”, he allowed quietly. I heard the exhaustion in his voice – he hadn’t slept since the attack on the prison island.

I let him sleep, watching him for a little while until I drifted off too. But the uneasiness in the waters below kept me awake for most of the night.

* * *

It was still dark outside when I left the cabin silently without waking Cullen. A damp chill greeted me on deck, and I drew my coat closer around my shoulders. It was drizzling lightly, with occasional strong gusts of wind sweeping across the water.

Thunder rumbled in the distance like the growl of an angry beast, slowly prowling closer. The temperature drop had driven all but the night-shift sailors into the Stormchaser’s warm and tidy hold.

I didn’t have a good sense of time, but I suspected it would start dawning soon – although with this kind of weather, we’d only have a gloomy semi-darkness all day. I didn’t like the thought of sailing us through a storm. My weaving would be compromised, and navigating would become a sheer nightmare. Then again, Old Sam always preached the uselessness of worrying about the weather – one cannot influence it either way.

Absent-mindedly, I lifted one of the oil lamps which had been tossed around by the wind, its wick barely burning. The flame strengthened a little as I turned it back to its original position. When I moved to leave, I caught the flutter of cloth from the corner of my eye. A silhouette in the darkness. Someone stood at the very front of the ship.

I sensed her more than I saw her. Her qai was so beautiful – I would recognize it anywhere. Intricate, layered. Like the petals of the flower she’d been named for. Right now though, she seemed closed-off, distant. I stood still, unsure what to do. _Talk to her, if you want to._

About what? _Remember that time when we were kids?_ No. Ridiculous. I almost walked away. Almost. Just when I decided to do so, Roslyn turned slightly. Our eyes met.

The urge to look away was strong, but I quelled it. We gazed at each other steadily for an unmeasured moment. The awkwardness of it was almost… funny. A faint smile rose to Roslyn’s face, as if we’d shared the same thought.

“Can’t sleep?”, she asked softly, although it didn’t sound like a question. I shook my head, looking out onto the churning waves.

“No… The sea is angry, and…” I trailed away.

“And you’re angry as well.”, Roslyn said. There was no chagrin in her voice. “I would be too, were I in your place. For me, you returned from the dead. Despite the circumstances, I am glad. But for you… You had worked so hard to forget. And you were happy, in that forgetfulness. I ripped you out of it.”

Lightning flashed across the darkened skies above, and thunder followed right on its heels. The storm was close now.

“Like slapping someone awake from a really, really nice dream.”, I sighed.

“Is it meaningless if I apologize?”

I met her earnest eyes. “No. It’s not meaningless.”

“I am sorry. That it had to happen this way, so… violently. That we didn’t find each other more naturally, in a more peaceful time. That you have to carry all these burdens, all at once.”

I swallowed hard, leaning up against a gust of wind that brought the first thick raindrop with it.

“Did you… Did you tell Alistair your secret?” The change of subject was abrupt, but if Roslyn minded, she never mentioned it.

“Yes, I did. It was difficult… And then it was relieving, somehow. I’d carried that secret for so long…”

“Well, that’s good, then.”, I said awkwardly. It was strange… We’d had personal conversations before, but now it felt as though we’d gone back to being strangers. Roslyn felt it too, because she smiled rather ruefully.

“Give us time, Iris. We’ll get to know each other again. It just takes time.”

“I – that’s not my…” I broke off, shaking my head. “Look, I better go.”

Familiar noises alerted me that I should ready the crew for the weather – the creaking hull, the tautened riggings, the flutter of the sails. I glanced up to the wheel, where Old Sam navigated the ship with a grim expression.

“Wait.”, Roslyn reached for me as I turned away, but caught herself at the last moment. “I didn’t share your dreams tonight. And I don’t… sense you anymore.”

I looked aside from her. “The source of our connection was always our blood. When we touched while I was with Ariu… We renewed those blood ties. Weavers sense these things more strongly than other mages, but your magical sense for it is good too. Of course, back then I didn’t know why we were connected. But now it all makes sense.” 

“So… Why is it gone now?”, she asked, a nick between her fine brows. She’d wrapped herself in a rich woollen cloak. Her silver-blonde hair was unbound, whipped around by the wind.

“I asked my father to show me how to ward against blood ties.”

An injured expression came to her face. If I could only describe to her what it feels like, to never be alone inside your own head, to carry another person in your mind. But it would have taken hours, to explain about weavers and qai, and all the ways in which the emotions of others influence us.

“Roslyn, it’s…”

And while I groped for words that wouldn’t come, I felt the ship’s hull rise with a mighty wave. Our keel was pushed up and up and up, but our stern didn’t follow. I watched the bowsprit ascend steeply, watched Roslyn lose her footing on the slick wood.

On mere instinct, I reached for her, while my other hand grasped the shrouds for purchase. I caught Roslyn around the waist, just barely. For an endless moment, the two of us dangled from the ropes precariously, before the hull crashed downward again. I found myself flat on my back, still holding on to Roslyn. The sailor’s panicked shouts were drowned out by a peal of thunder.

It was as if the storm erupted directly above our position. With no preamble or warning, we were at the epicentre of chaos. Suddenly the wind howled so loudly, I could barely hear my own voice as I cried commands to the crew. Rain splattered my face – fat drops unloaded upon us by a furious sky. I stood unsteadily, helping a shaking Roslyn to her feet. 

And then a bolt of lightning struck the waters so close to our broadside, I had to shield my eyes from the glare. I even felt the charged energy in the air, lifting the hairs on my nape. An instant later, a more sinister sensation broke over me, one I knew by heart. _Hunted. _

When I lowered my arm again, the blood froze in my veins. Because beyond where thunder had struck, the massive silhouette of a ship had appeared. Its black sails undulated in the fierce tempest, its course unmistakably set.

The Red Dragon had found us.

For a split second, indecision paralyzed me. Run or fight? Flee or stand our ground? No. I’d promised myself – no more running. Wherever I ran to, they would follow. It was time to end this.

“Enemy ahead! Haul wind!”, I yelled above the roar of the storm. “Set course to intercept! Ready for battle!”

Within heartbeats, the deck was swarming with both sailors and soldiers. Cullen arrived in a run, the others collectively lining up around him. I was struggling to keep our course steady, glad to see that my father had arrived to take the wheel. Features set, he nodded at me, his wet hair sticking to his face.

“What’s the plan, Selkie?”, Alistair shouted, lifting his cloak to shield himself and Roslyn from the rain. Not that it did much. In this kind of cloudburst, we’d all be soaked to the skin no matter what. 

“Archers and mages, take position on our portside. I’ll bring us around the Dragon so you get clear shots. The ship’s deck is much lower than ours, so you’ll have the high ground. Cullen, direct the soldiers to protect our ranged fighters. Shields, planks – anything that will deflect projectiles –“

The hull lurched again, and I fought to steady us. Alec, Alistair and Cullen executed my plan at once. They paired every offensive mage with a shield-bearer. Barrier-casters and archers lined up next. I cast a wild glance at our opponent. The Dragon was closing in with alarming speed. It was the same strategy as the first time – overwhelm the enemy before they can manoeuvre themselves to safety.

Turning us was a herculean task for my depleted qai. When the water obeyed me too damn slowly, I realized that I’d overextended my powers like never before. The serpentine figurehead cut through the water relentlessly, heading straight for our portside.

If I didn’t turn us in time, the Dragon would ram us like it did the Tidedancer. My plan would cause countless casualties. My people, my family… They were all in terrible danger. Because of me. The storm screeched its fury, and doubt held me prisoner, clinging to my heart like icy tentacles.

Suddenly terrified, I stumbled, just as the spells began to fly. Projectiles flew at us from the Dragon’s deck, ricocheting around the Stormchaser. They bounced off shields and masts, singed the sodden sails, damaged our hull. Balls of fire clashed with icicles, launching magical shrapnel all across the deck. Forks of white-blue lightning exploded against barriers, raining sparks everywhere.

Roslyn supported the mages from farther back, her hands gleaming as though dipped in pure light. Cullen was shielding Alec and Dorian, but the battle on the island had taken its toll. Too little time for our mages to recharge, for our soldiers to regain their strength. They were faltering.

I watched the Red Dragon loom before us like a harbinger of destruction, its threatening sails illuminated by the magical fireworks of our battle. A streak of light flew by behind the canvases, and the beast’s eyes seemed to glow with primal hunger. My frantic gaze caught a man standing at the front of the ship, surrounded by a shimmering chrysalis of energy. His face was unfamiliar, but my qai recognized him at once. _Hunter_. I froze like a creature confronted with its immediate demise. And right then, a terrible thought came to me: Had I run right into his trap?

Out of time. Too late. The noises of the battle seemed to dwindle, even the storm’s roar faded into the background. I had no power left to weave us out of the way. It had all been for naught –

“Selkie! Don’t falter!”, Cullen’s shout made me flinch from my petrified state.

“Selkie!”

“Iris!”

Other voices joined in, mingling to a chorus of shouts and cries. Cullen and Alistair had jumped onto the railing to deflect the Venatori attacks. Between them, Alec stood like a force of nature, launching ice and fire from both hands. Varric had climbed onto the Bull’s shoulders, shooting one bolt after the other without pausing for breath. They were still fighting, refusing to give up.

And down below, the man who had hunted me this far smiled like a snake, certain of his victory.

I don’t know from where I took the strength. But with one mighty push of my hands, I unhinged the Stormchaser from its course. The vessel turned so vehemently, I lost sight of the Dragon for a second as I forced the ship to evade the destructive ramming manoeuvre. It was _almost_ enough. Almost, but not quite.

Instead of hitting us full broadside, the Dragon’s figurehead crashed into the very back of our hull. The impact was jarring. Bone-rattling. Soldiers were thrown off their feet. My father barely kept his footing. Yells of pain and shock erupted around me.

Horrified, I watched Cullen lose his balance. The shield slipped from is grasp. Alistair reached for his arm. Alec lunged after him. And then all three of them were falling overboard. Roslyn and I cried out in unison.

I didn’t wait. I was vaulting over the railing within the blink of an eye. The water I summoned to catch them was a weak little wave, barely deserving the name. As I soared downward myself, I wondered hysterically what could be worse – drowning in these treacherous waters, or landing right in the heart of the enemy. The latter happened. My spell slowed their fall a bit, making them hit the Dragon’s main deck hard. 

I came down there as well, a dozen feet away from Alistair, Cullen and Alec. Pain exploded in several places, but I managed to tumble to the ground without breaking anything.

“Are you alright?!”, I cried out, struggling back to my feet. I was winded and wobbly. No strength. No air. The others were trying to stand as well, but the Venatori were advancing on them in a closed circle. They were penned in! I tried to weave, to call up the water to help them. But the mere attempt brought on a dizzying nausea that made me stumble sideways. I heaved drily, shuddering all over, groping for my weapon. My hands were useless things, fingers too clumsy to even grip the hilt. 

“Selkie! Get away!”, Cullen screamed. The scenery blurred in front of my eyes. Yet I still saw him. He was desperately trying to cut his way through the Venatori, to me. The fear in his eyes reminded me of the harlequin attack. His hair was a soggy mess, rivulets of water running down his neck. There was a streak of blood on his temple. Alec stood behind him, face taut with concentration to keep his barriers up on the three of them.

“Get away from there! What are you doing!? Get away!” At Cullen’s increasingly panicked shouts, Alistair’s head whipped around too.

I heard their voices, but it was as if they were coming from the end of a long tunnel. Curiously, I touched my nose, looking baffled when my hand came away bloody.

Things moved sluggishly around me. Waves clashing against the hull of this unfamiliar ship. A bolt of lightning, slowly snaking its way down to the sea’s surface. Cullen bashing a man aside with brute force, only to be blocked by two more.

And a presence, right behind me. Slithering closer like a venomous viper. Ready to strike.

“Easier than I thought.”, a satisfied voice said. “Get her.”

Still oddly dazed, I turned. Iron hands grabbed my arms, locking them behind my back. Primal fear broke through my lethargic state of weakness. The will to fight surged within me, and suddenly I kicked and shrieked like a savage thing, snapping my teeth at my captors. It was a reaction of instinct. _Survive! Fight!_

My mind went into a haze as my body did every possible thing to escape. I don’t remember how I managed it, but it seemed I’d thrashed around wildly enough to break free. For the measure of a heartbeat, I thought I could flee.

Then two men bore me to the ground so violently, my head bumped against the wooden deck. I cried out in pain. Stars danced across my vision. Through the ringing in my ears I heard a strange sound, a sound of pure ferocious wrath. A lion’s roar.

“Seeker! We can’t hold them off much longer!”, someone shouted, followed by sword clangs and unintelligible cries.

“Slippery little thing, isn’t she?”, the silky voice of the Seeker spoke above. I was still squirming and kicking, but they pinned me to the ground. My legs, my arms. Immobilized. Helpless. Defeated. A knee pressed to the small of my back. I gasped for breath like a fish out of water, tears of fury and pain welling from my eyes.

“I just need one good cut. Show me the sign.”

My strength renewed when I felt someone yank down my collar, baring my upper back. My tattoo. Elya and Elwin. Strength and Spirit. Why weren’t they helping me? Why was no one helping me?! I fought even more viciously, with no fear of injury to myself. All to no avail.

“Stop struggling. This is your destiny. Let me tell you a little secret, Blood of Elya.” He leaned down to me. I felt his hand grip my hair heartlessly, felt his hot, disgusting breath against my ear.

“For so long you eluded me, sweet Iris. But now it’s done. This is my design.”

And then the cold blade cut into me. Not very deeply, but he cut right into the centrepiece of my tattoos, right into Elya. A white-hot bolt of agony shattered me. I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound that escaped my throat was an otherworldly shriek, barely human.

_“Leave silence behind  
And face your fears  
In the heart of chaos  
Fell Elya’s Tears” _

The world seemed to stand still while they chanted, over and over again.

_“In mists eternal  
No night no day  
Blood of Elya  
Guides the way” _

They sang and sang and sang. Beyond the pain, beyond the despair, beyond the fear I went. And there, at the heart of chaos, was the power of my blood. The power they sought. I released the reins. They slipped from my hands and fell, right into that wellspring coming alive within me. I was no longer shackled.

_“Blood of Elya  
Strong is She  
Break her will  
Unleash the sea”_

The force at work did not bend to my will. It brushed me aside and took control. I knew then that I’d been lured down this path from the beginning. It was inevitable. There was nothing else to do but to close my eyes, and let the Blood of Elya guide the way.


	40. XL. In Mists Eternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And right on schedule, here I am with the next chapter! I struggled with this one and I'm not really satisfied... but I hope you still enjoy it!  
Also I hope that you're all doing well in these difficult times, and that my story might kidnap you into the world of Dragon Age, into Selkie and Cullen's greatest adventure slowly reaching its finale. The next chapter will be coming sooner than I planned!  
Enjoy reading <3

### XL. In Mists Eternal

_The Vanguard_

* * *

A violent gush of water from my lungs brought me back to consciousness. I coughed and spit, nauseated by the salty taste in my throat. After nearly drowning in an unforgiving sea, it was a terrible awakening. For a moment, my vision was too blurry to see anything at all. Hands patted me down, propping me upright. They’d unclasped my breastplate so I could breathe.

“There you go. You’re alright. You’re alright, mate.”, Old Sam’s gruff voice was strangely reassuring as his frying-pan-sized palm struck my back. I coughed up the last bits of water, taking a big gulp from the flask he offered me.

“What – what happened?”, I croaked, blinking my eyes against the salt-water’s burn.

Things slowly came into focus. Alec and Alistair, both on their knees, gasping for air and drenched to the skin. The Stormchaser’s dark wooden deck creaked softly beneath me, moving almost noiselessly over the sea. I looked around.

Matthias and the Bull were helping the others back to their feet, Roslyn kneeled beside Alistair. Old Sam braced me as I stood, my legs still a little wobbly. But it was Ariu who caught my arm when I almost fell down again. He stood at the railing, holding on to the wood with one hand.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. We just fished you out of the waters.”, he said.

“But… The storm – is it over?”, I began hoarsely.

“The storm might have passed, but I’m afraid our troubles have only just begun.”, Ariu said in a grave voice.

Instead of comfort, chaotic scraps of memory assaulted me. Alec, Alistair and me, fighting against the circle of Venatori tightening the noose around us. Seeing Selkie attacked by three men. She’d fought like a wildcat, but they had brutally overpowered her. I hadn’t been able to do a thing when… They’d hurt her. Cut her. And then… and then… Something strange had happened.

“The man – Claudio – he captured Selkie.”, Alec interjected, his expression crestfallen.

“We saw that.”, Matthias clipped, coming to stand beside Ariu. “And then, a moment later, there was a pulse. It was like an explosion, but without the fire.”

“The whole world seemed to shudder.”, Alec confirmed. “We were suddenly flying through the air, into the raging sea.”

“That pulse shook the waters for miles around, and the Fade even farther. We had to hold on for dear life as the waves carried us where they would. When we regained our bearings, we found the three of you floating on the surface near our hull, and the weather turned to… this.”, Ariu explained, gesturing to our surroundings.

It was only then that I noticed how _quiet_ it was. Deadly quiet. The ship moved, creaking ominously from time to time. An eerie wind ruffled audibly through the canvases. But there were no commands shouted among the sailors, no ropes being pulled. And everywhere around us… fog. We were sailing through impenetrable mist, a milky haze that was so thick, I could barely make out the bowsprit.

“Where are we?”, Alistair demanded, coming to the railing. The others did the same, casting their gazes out over the mist-covered waters. Down below, I saw the ripples left behind in our wake, disappearing into the nothingness of the fog. A cold feeling settled in my stomach. I felt as though we had crossed over from the land of the living into a ghostly ocean where forlorn souls wandered eternally, floating through the mist. 

“I’m not sure. We lost the Red Dragon.”, Ariu said. His blind eyes were trained on something invisible in the distance. “We are moving, but not by our will. This is Selkie, guiding us to her.”

Those words galvanized me at once. “If she can command the waves around us, she has to be close!”, I exclaimed.

“We’ll find her and free her. Simple as that.”, Roslyn interjected with determination. But Ariu sighed, his eyes closing.

“Simple… We passed simple long ago. Claudio will keep her alive, because he needs her blood. He needs it to find the demon of the deep. _Aranehn’banal_, my mentor called him. Abyss Dweller.”

Ariu lowered himself heavily onto one of the crates the sailors used as makeshift seats. Dorian, Varric and Alec sat down as well. I couldn’t stay still. Everything inside me screamed for action, to do something that would get me closer to Selkie. Save her. I paced up and down restlessly, cracked my knuckles, rolled my shoulders. Nothing helped to alleviate the feeling of utter impotence.

“I know how you feel.”, Ariu addressed me seriously. “But right now, the only thing we can do is to let her guide us.”

“What in the Maker’s name is going on? Explain it! If you know anything –“, I rounded on him. Matthias readied to step between us, but Ariu held up a hand.

“I’m with Cullen on this, Wiseman.”, Varric chimed in. “Time to give us some answers.”

Roslyn, who stood at the railing with her arms crossed and her features tense, nodded sharply. “Tell us what you know, Ariu.”

The elf sighed deeply before he began to speak, his voice filled with bitterness.

“I learned about the demon of the deep from my mentor when I was little more than a boy. She told me many old elven legends, pieces of elven culture passed down through the generations. But I didn’t know that Tevinter had accounts about the legend, and much less that they might find a way to go looking for the place where Elya sealed away the demon. Still, we took precautions to protect Selkie. Our whole life on the Tidedancer kept her safe, and we always covered our tracks. But this man… I have a feeling he has been on the hunt for a long, long time.”

He paused, rubbing his forehead. Deep creases had appeared there, betraying how worried he was.

“Only the Blood of Elya can open the way to the demon. Selkie might be human, but her bloodlines can be traced back to elven weavers who lived centuries ago. The magic is strong in her. She is the true Blood of Elya, while I am… What did you call me? Wiseman. Lorekeeper. Preserver of knowledge.” A thin smile fleeted across his features. 

“Claudio tried to use my blood as a substitute – when he failed, he tried to torture the way to do it out of me. Of course I didn’t know. Like so many things with us weavers, this is an issue of _intuition_. So when that failed too, he hatched a different plan. He wanted to draw Selkie out into the open. And he succeeded.”

“He let us bring back her voice.”, Matthias said quietly.

“The assassin attack. The red templars in Jader. With his schemes he goaded her, drove her to become more reckless. If he really planned all this… He’s a damn mastermind.”, Varric went on.

“When she told me about those things, I already feared Claudio’s machinations… His ambition is pure obsession now. I felt it when I saw him.” Ariu’s shoulders drooped, and he seemed to deflate in front of our eyes.

“You knew that Selkie could find the place where Elya sealed the demon of the deep.”, I stated bluntly. “But you kept it a secret from her. Why?”

“Why? Would you have told a child, a growing girl who’d just lived through a horrible disaster, what terrible power her blood might hold? How would you explain it to her? And when she was old enough to understand… I gave her pieces. Legends with bits of truth in it. I gave her all the knowledge she needed. Besides, I never knew the exact way of finding the demon.”

“Leave that to the Vints.”, the Bull rumbled sardonically. “They found the way alright.”

“_Leave silence behind,  
and face your fears  
In the heart of chaos  
Fell Elya’s Tears_.”, Dorian intoned in a singsong voice.

“And so they did.” Ariu stood suddenly, his blind eyes focusing on something beyond us. We all turned to see what he meant, and the sight struck us dumb. Giant shapes appeared between the swirling tendrils of mist, one after the other.

Great black pillars, rising from the silent sea and reaching up to the skies. So tall were they that I could not see their peaks – they simply disappeared into the endless fog above. Staring in stunned awe, I understood that these were no natural formations.

And yet, I couldn’t conceive of the stonemason who’d carved these monoliths of perfect symmetry, much less the immense workforce it would need to erect them. Power hummed within each giant obelisk, and as we drifted along between them, I saw… Fine veins of blueish-white light marbling the obsidian stonework.

“There is magic in them.”, Alec said, his voice wondrous. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“Lyrium. Crafted into the stone. But the intricacy of it – marvellous!” Dorian watched one of the pillars pass us by. He lifted a hand, sending out a small spark towards the stone. The moment his spell connected with the pillar’s surface, the spiderweb of lyrium flared to life. Light resonated across the entire obelisk, expanding like the ripple of a stone tossed into water.

“Ha! I never thought I would utter these words, but… This magic is beyond me. I don’t even know how it can exist, in the middle of this…”, Dorian trailed away, then slapped his hand to his forehead. “But of course! This place –“

“Elya’s Tears. We are here.”, Ariu cut in softly.

“It’s… incredible.” Roslyn was leaning over the railing. “How has nobody ever found this place?”

“They have.”, Ariu answered with a frown. “Selkie keeps us safe, but these obelisks in this mist… Impossible to manoeuvre.”

“He’s right. Look.”, Matthias pointed at a monolith to our right.

A few feet above the waves around a pillar’s base, parts of a wrecked ship were visible. I caught sight of a long-rotted wooden mast, overgrown with barnacles and sea-moss. The water lapped against the black stone gently.

While the wreck clearly showed how long this unlucky vessel had been here, the monoliths seemed ageless, completely unmarred by sea or weather. They were sleek, polished and utterly enigmatic. I didn’t like the low, ominous buzz they emanated. I didn’t like anything about this eldritch place. 

“I sense many more wrecks at the bottom of the ocean here. A graveyard of ships. Those who have stumbled upon Elya’s Tears, or sought this place out deliberately. They likely date back to Tevinter’s glory days.”, Ariu mused.

“Not a very comforting thought, Wiseman.”, Varric murmured.

“Don’t worry, Master Dwarf. Selkie guides us still. We won’t sink.”

“Where _is _she guiding us, exactly?”, I asked impatiently.

The feeling that we were running out of time became stronger with each minute sailing through this preternatural scenery. It was too quiet and too… too strange. Too alien for me to understand. I felt edgy and uneasy, and most of all, I needed to get Selkie back. Free her from that madman’s grasp. Although my years of training helped me to keep focus, my fear for the woman I loved hovered close to the surface. So dangerously close. If I didn’t take action soon, I might go mad.

“To the centre, of course. There.”, Ariu’s voice brought me back to myself.

I didn’t know how he saw it with his blind eyes – probably through his magical sight. But just as he lifted an arm and pointed ahead, the fog slowly parted, revealing a small island. Gradually, we drifted closer towards it. The shore seemed to consist of the black monolith’s material, ground to finest sand. It was almost completely barren, with the exception of a tall obsidian archway.

I walked to our ship’s bow to look out over the ethereal islet. The wind whistled between the sails, making them whisper and flutter, creating a ghostly conversation. Under the archway, I glimpsed a gleam of light. Something shimmered there, throwing back a kaleidoscope of reflections… It looked like… glass? A mirror?

“At least we know what happened to the Dragon.”, Dorian caught my attention, gesturing to our portside.

Pieces of splintered wood bobbed on the water’s surface. The Dragon’s main mast leaned askew over the waves, its hull submerged beneath the sea. Only the figurehead remained above the surface, half-serpent, half-man. It would never tear through another ship again. Shreds of the black sails hung from the remains of the destructive vessel, draping down into the water like a funeral veil. The sea had triumphed over the beast.

“My daughter’s last attempt to thwart her hunter.”, Ariu whispered beside me.

“She tried. It was a slow sinking, but they managed to get to shore.”, Matthias added. 

As I followed Cornwall’s gaze, I saw what he meant. A small boat on the island’s shore. But… This made no sense. The island was deserted. Nothing and no one in sight.

“Matthias, ready a boat for them. They have to get ashore as quickly as possible.”, Ariu suddenly said. He’d gone pale, his scarred face frightened.

“You heard him, men! Ready the boat!”, Matthias barked to the sailors, all of whom had been standing on deck, staring in stunned disbelief at the strange congregation of pillars in the mist. At his command, their rigour broke and they sprang into action.

“We’re all going, right?”, Varric shouldered his crossbow.

“Of course we are.”, this confirmation came from Roslyn. During our mysterious journey here, she had changed into her battlemage robes and bound her hair into a long plait. The frail prisoner had disappeared, and a warrior queen had stepped into her place. Should she ever ascend to the throne, she would do Ferelden proud.

“Wait a second… I don’t understand. Where are we going? There’s nobody on that island. Just a… What is that exactly?”, Alistair interjected, pointing at the shimmering window-like object.

“It is definitely a magical object. I remember… Morrigan told me about these ancient elven mirrors. She even showed me one. They’re called –“

“_Eluvian_.”, Ariu spoke with the melodious cadence of the elven tongue. “The word means ‘seeing glass’. They are not simply mirrors, but gateways. I have never seen one myself, but knowledge of them has been passed down among the elves.”

“Gateways? So… They’re like portals?”, the Bull asked.

“Yes. The one on the island is activated. Wherever it leads, you will find Selkie. But you’ll likely find Claudio and _Aranehn’banal_ as well. Elya was an exceptional mage during the time of _Elvhenan_, the ancient empire. I don’t know what will await you on the other side of that mirror.”

“Into the unknown, then. Sounds fun to me. At least we’ll have a story to tell.”, Varric said as we all moved towards the boat. The Bull and Dorian got in first, then Alistair and Roslyn. Space got scarce after this. Varric slid to the seat at the very front, perching on the edge so Alec could embark.

As I checked my equipment and armour for soundness one last time, Ariu suddenly pulled me aside. His fogged gaze settled on me, his features stern.

“Be on your guard. Beyond the mirror lies the demon’s domain. He is old and cunning, and he will sense your emotions, your urgency to rescue her. Your devotion. He will try everything to lead you astray.”, he warned me in a low voice. I wondered how he knew so much, but there was no time to ask for explanations. I gave a curt nod.

“I’ll bring her back. I promise.”

“What are you doing, Ariu? We should be going with them!”, Matthias stepped to us, looking outraged.

“No, vhenan. We would only be in their way, especially me. Now is the time to trust those our daughter has chosen to trust.”

“But –“

For a short instant, some kind of unspoken communication passed between them. Although Matthias still seemed rattled, he relented.

I got into the boat quickly, squeezing in between Alistair and Alec. The small vessel could barely hold us all, swaying precariously on the ropes. Several burly sailors began working the mechanism that lowered us into the misty waters below. As we descended, I looked up and saw both Matthias and Ariu at the railing, watching us go.

It only took a few minutes of hard rowing until we reached the island’s shores and could disembark the laden boat. Black sand crunched beneath my boots as I walked resolutely towards the mirror at the centre of the isle. Within an antique, faded frame it stood beneath the stone archway. But while the frame looked as though it had seen whole ages pass by, the surface of the Eluvian rippled and undulated with blue light, like a shining pond. I sensed the magic inside it, unfamiliar and fathomless to the human mind. 

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it? An enchanted mirror on an island in the mists. Almost romantic.”, Dorian commented from behind me.

The Bull snorted derisively. “You have strange tastes, Kadan. Don’t much like this place at all. Reminds me of the thick fogs in the Seheron lowlands. Can’t see shit and you’re vulnerable like a naked ass out in the cold.”

“Well said. I don’t like it here either. Place makes my skin crawl.”, Alistair murmured.

“Let’s go.”, I interrupted their conversation impatiently. Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I surveyed our little group. Each individual had drawn their weapon of choice, their stances ready for battle, their faces suddenly dead serious.

“Whatever awaits us on the other side, our priority is to get Selkie back safe and sound. Are you with me?”

A chorus of assent erupted from my companions, echoing into the ghostly silence of the island. Their unquestioning support filled the emptiness in my chest, bolstering my heart with courage and determination. Sword in one hand, I reached out the other to the Eluvian’s rippling surface. It gave a welcoming flicker, and I felt a warm tingling sensation travel up the entire length of my tattoo.

The way was open.

_Selkie_, I thought. _Hold on, my love._

Without further hesitation, I stepped through the mirror.

* * *

_The Weaver_

* * *

I was the sea, and the sea was me. Never had we connected this way, so deeply that it was frightening. This awakened force was drawn to a very special place, and the waters followed its command. Within my mind’s eye, I saw a small island amidst a sea of black pillars. Aye, the goal. I knew I couldn’t avoid reaching it, and at the same time I had never feared the end of a journey this much. I had little control over the happenings, but managed to slip in some of my own will. I reached out across the waters and found the Stormchaser, setting her on the same path I was taking. She followed obediently.

My second undertaking - sinking the Red Dragon - wasn’t quite as easy. But while the ship was built for ramming other vessels with destructive force, these manoeuvres had made its sides brittle and vulnerable. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I adjusted the course just a bit so the Dragon would meet with sharp submerged cliffs. They tore a sizable hole into the ship’s weak hull, sinking it slowly but surely. Thank the Maker for small victories.

I can’t properly describe the time during which I was ‘controlled’ by the Blood of Elya. It was both a kind of guidance and a command. I retained a part of my consciousness throughout the journey, but to this day I have great gaps in my memory. I remember being unceremoniously thrown over someone’s shoulder, and then… a sensation of flying or falling, hazy like a dream.

The next I knew, we arrived… somewhere else. Without warning, the power slipped from my grasp. Or perhaps it released me. I’d been in a trance which was slow to fade, leaving me completely drained and disoriented. Gradually, I became aware of my body again, and the hurts returned - the painful cut on my upper back, the uncomfortable position I was in, with a shoulder-piece digging into my belly. Half-conscious and dazed, I listened to the shreds of conversation around me.

“The discovery of this place alone… The possibilities! We will be rewarded by the Elder One, no doubt!”

“If we manage to leave it alive, maybe.”, a surly voice close to me said. It must have been the man who was carrying me.

“Have faith, Corvo. He is here. I can feel his presence. The ancient texts called him Abyss Dweller. Demon of the Deep. And once the demon is in my grasp…”

I noted distractedly that Claudio said ‘my’ and not ‘our grasp’.

“I don’t doubt you, Seeker. But we lost so many men to this endeavour. We sacrificed the whole outpost, half the crew and ten of our best men to thwart the Inquisition’s people. Now there’s only a handful left, and we are depleted from the fighting.”, the man named Corvo argued.

“Corvo is right, Seeker. Let us pause for a rest. Dante and Marcus are both injured, and Corvo and I have been carrying the woman.”, a different voice joined in.

A short pause followed where Claudio seemed to consider this.

“Fine.”, he said eventually, grudgingly. “A few minutes. Divide our last potions among yourselves. Corvo, put her down here.”

With surprising gentleness, I was lowered onto cold, damp stone and turned to my side. By now, the disorienting feeling in my head had dissipated, and my senses were returning to me. I smelled the distinct, pungent scent of seagrass, algae and moss, with hints of fish and something… slimy. It was the typical smell of an underwater cave. 

“Do not let her out of your sight. We still need her.”, Claudio warned his underling sharply.

“She’s been unconscious since she let loose that blast after you cut her. I doubt she will –“

“_Don’t_ underestimate her. This is as much her domain as it is the demon’s.”

Their voices were coming from behind my back. I didn’t want to let them know that I was conscious again, so I opened my eyes just one tiny bit. What I saw momentarily drove everything from my mind, and all I could do was stare.

I was in a city _under the sea_. Towers of white marble rose between domed pavilions and temple-like buildings. Many had crumbled and fallen to ruin, but some looked almost entirely intact. Sea-moss flourished everywhere, growing on fallen statues and standing pillars alike. Corals as big as trees had sprouted in especially damp places. They must be loving this climate.

The plant life created an atmosphere of overgrown ruins in a long-abandoned city, where the sea had slowly reclaimed the places lost to civilization. Light came from hundreds, even thousands of crystal formations. They climbed pillars or arched above walkways to create webbed canopies, uncannily symmetrical patterns. Someone must have grown them into these fantastical shapes – but how?

I looked up to where the sky should be. The sea hovered above like a rippling sheet; the water’s surface was sometimes illuminated by the gleam of the crystals. In several places, small rivulets rained down onto the ground, nourishing the plants below.

Beyond, it was dark and deep. But as I watched, I saw the light skip across the surface, outlining a large silhouette moving through the depths. A whale.

_This can’t be real._ What kind of magic would it need, to _suspend_ the entire sea? To build a whole city beneath the water? And how had it not collapsed, but stood here for thousands of years? There was air to breathe. There was light. But there were no people. Not for eons.

“The ancient elves knew magic far beyond our imagination.”, Claudio’s voice ripped me from my wondrous examination. Of course, my hands were bound behind my back, but they had left my feet unbound. I turned and sat up on the mossy stone, glaring at my captor. Claudio went on, undeterred.

“They were immortal, so time meant nothing to them. It must have taken centuries to build this. To enchant it with perpetual magic. To perfect the buildings, grow the crystals. The undertaking of dozens of lifetimes and thousands of people, for us.”

Intrigued against my will, I shifted to my feet. “This was the home of Elya and Elwin.” I knew that by intuition. It made perfect sense.

“Indeed it was. For decades, I have been looking for this place.”, Claudio said softly.

“You sent the men to burn the village.”, I hissed, remembering what he had said: _This is my design_.

He turned to me, and I saw his face fully up close for the first time. He was in his fifties, his greying hair short-cropped, his features completely unremarkable. A face you would forget as soon as you’d bid him farewell. But his eyes told a different story. Cold, cruel and insanely ambitious. My qai was still too weak for me to see much, but a cloudy image of his aura was enough of a warning. This was a dangerous man, a skilled mage with no respect for human life. He smiled his snake-like smile.

“It was the last time I hired mercenaries to do work for me. They were ordered to capture you first, and then burn everything. Idiots… They botched it. It took me years to find out that you had survived. And even more years until I was ready for the hunt. Resources, manpower, magic… It was the Elder One who finally made it possible.”

Claudio lifted his hands triumphantly, and his qai surged with his feelings of pride and hubris. Disgusted, I recoiled. He noticed my reaction, stepping closer to me. I sensed the other Venatori followers’ eyes on us. They were watching us, listening avidly to our conversation.

Claudio grasped my chin, squeezing painfully when I tried to flinch away.

“Don’t give me that accusing look. Don’t you dare judge me. When I dug up the accounts about the Abyss Dweller from the deepest vaults of the archives, I was branded a joke by the Disciples. Cities beneath the sea? Demons of the deep? Impossible, they said. Nonsense. They _laughed_ at me.”

With surprising strength, he turned my face towards the city stretching out before us.

“And look where we are now. Look closely with that sight of yours.”, Claudio whispered.

I did. There, at the centre, beyond a great plaza. A giant domed temple. And within it, the only aura besides the Venatori and me. My mind tried to withdraw from the chaotic, otherworldly sensation of this qai, but it seemed as soon as I’d turned my attention on the creature, I had gained its regard in return.

The demon of the deep. Almost lazily, his consciousness reached for me. Old. He was so old. Wisdom once, millennia ago. But the changing world had twisted him, transformed him, and he didn’t quite remember the times before. He was Conceit now, and would ever be.

“Ah… Finally. The guest of honour has arrived. I have waited ages for you, my beauty. It is high time that we meet.”

My scream of denial mingled with his insidious laughter. All the fear I had kept at bay broke over me, drowned me, swallowed me. And in my despair, in the hopelessness of my situation, I thought of the person I loved most in the world. The one person who might yet come to save me.

_Cullen. Where are you? _


	41. XLI. No Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter is here sooner than I scheduled it! The happenings in this one are a bit "out of time". I'm sorry if you expected the big showdown, but that will come in the next chapter!   
I still like this one - it's a glimpse into a different life for Cullen, and this experience does shape his character. I also wanted to give Aranehn’banal (god that name is so difficult to write) a bit of performance time. He comes in late in the story, which means I don't have much space to bring him to life in the way I'd like to. I imagine this demon as incredibly self-centered, cocky, but with some cause - he knows how to push people's buttons, to hit them where it really hurts. He likes to change his shape, taking different forms, but likes taking the form of Elwin, his 'old friend' the most.   
I hope you enjoy this chapter! Get ready for the big showdown soon >.< Uh I'm already nervous...   
Have fun <3

### XLI. No Regrets

_The Vanguard_

* * *

I had missed a step in the dark.

The eternal void stretched out before me, a great black nothingness occasionally dotted with distant stars. The skies of an alien world. I fell in silence, with no sense of direction or speed. And as I fell, I became aware of something watching me from the darkness of the abyss. A pair of eyes, distant as the strangely wrong stars, full of age-old cunning.

“What’s this?”, a soft, silky voice spoke within the depths of endless space. Everything inside me bristled at the intrusive touch that brushed over my mind. There was something almost familiar about it, but not in a comforting way. It appalled me.

“Did you get lost, little mortal? So far from home… Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

And then its touch became sharper than any blade, cutting through the shields protecting my mind. The insidious creature broke into my thoughts, violated the privacy of my soul by rampaging through my memories with a carelessness that shocked me. Every barrier I erected was peeled away, more quickly than I could build them. I sensed the creature’s disdain at me: I was useless to it. The true object of its interest was just now being brought to the temple, and soon, so soon, it would be free, free once more…

But what to do with these others?

“You don’t lack for conviction. Such passion! Such commitment! You almost make me want to let you succeed. But what is all this regret? You’re riddled with it, mortal. Like a carcass being eaten by worms. Let me get rid of those for you.”

_Demon_, I realized. _Abyss Dweller_. But it was too late. Chuckling happily, he tugged vital pieces away from me, like a crow picking choice morsels from a fresh corpse. My panic and struggle _amused_ him. I wanted to scream, to fight, to strike down the vile thing –

From one second to the other, I was dropped from its clutches. There was a nauseating moment of motion-sickness, and then I jolted back into awareness.

Sunlight blinded me. It was too bright, coming from too many directions. Dazzled and disoriented, it took me some time to realize that the light was bouncing off the wide waterscape around me. I stood on a wooden dock which I recognized instantly. Kinloch Hold. The docks at Kinloch Hold.

I had been a templar here. No, I _was_ a templar here… My mind seemed to stumble over that knowledge like someone tripping over an invisible obstacle on their path. I knew a curious sensation that I had forgotten something really, really important.

The blazing disk of the sun stood at its zenith in the sky, and I was looking upon a trio of passengers disembarking a spacious boat. My heart moved sideways in my chest when I set eyes upon Meredith Stannard. She stood tall and proud, her fair hair slightly streaked with silver, her cool blue gaze assessing the impressive Circle Tower behind me. I didn’t glance at it myself, but I felt the building’s presence like a primordial predator lying in wait at my back. I couldn’t remember why, but somehow it made me uneasy.

Why was I here?

Meredith nodded to her two escorts – one of whom seemed strikingly familiar to me. I didn’t have much time to dwell on this, because she strode along the docks and came to a halt right in front of me. She gave a short bow.

“Knight-Commander, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Thank you for receiving us at such short notice.”

_Knight-Commander_. The title sounded odd on her lips, so did the respectful tone with which she addressed me. I looked down at myself. The skyward sword was emblazoned on my chest-piece. My shoulder-guards were decorated with sigils marking my high rank. Sunlight glanced off several gold medals. The Sun of Andraste – rewarded rarely, for exceptional services to the Order.

I blinked, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. Still inspecting myself with a curious bafflement, I murmured a greeting under my breath.

Meredith threw a questioning glance at her escorts, but they merely shrugged. Seamlessly, she moved to introduce them.

“This is my second-in-command, Knight-Captain Paul Cane. And this here is Kirkwall’s best spirit healer, a former student of First Enchanter Orsino himself.” She pointed first at the tall, severe-looking templar beside her, then at a shortly built, thin mage to her left. Her demeanour was flawless and almost a bit deferential, as if I outranked her even though we were equals. 

Something was wrong here. I struggled to put my finger to it, but… an odd sensation blanketed me, like a heavy winter quilt woven from warm, comforting thoughts. And yet…

When someone spoke beside me, I realized that I had brought companions to this meeting as well.

“My name is Wynne. I am First Enchanter and overseer of our Ritualists. Although I shall soon cede my title to a very talented student of mine.”

I surveyed the speaker, who stood a little behind me, wearing the elaborate robes declaring her rank. She was in her late sixties and looked rather spry for her age. A friendly smile was on her face, emphasizing the crinkles around her eyes and mouth. But her intelligent gaze was trained on me with worry.

“The Ritualists are ready, then?”, Meredith asked with genuine eagerness.

“Oh, yes, they are. They have trained for three years, and they are ready to leave the nest. We can spare two of them for the Kirkwall Circle.”, Wynne replied when I was silent once more, although the question had clearly been directed at me. I just didn’t know how to answer.

“Knight-Captain Stanley will show you around. I’ll join you in a minute, but I need to have a word in private with the Knight-Commander.”, Wynne said pleasantly.

Meredith and her entourage nodded, moving to follow a young man who I hadn’t noticed until then. The heat of the midday was starting to make me sweat beneath my heavy armour. I felt trapped and confined in it. When the others were out of ear-shot, Wynne turned to me.

“What is wrong with you? It’s a good thing Meredith doesn’t stand on strict protocol like the other Knight-Commanders who are coming to visit, because otherwise this might have gone down differently.”, she whispered intensely, startling me.

“I… I feel odd.”, was all I could say.

“It’s clear that you do. You didn’t even properly greet her or introduce us. You look sick, Knight-Commander. Very unlike yourself. Is it your wife? Do you need me to handle this inspection in your stead?”

“My wife.”, I repeated her words, like a child learning language. Wynne looked at me sceptically. When she spoke again, her words were low and urgent.

“Look, Cullen… We’ve supported each other ever since you prevented Uldred’s insane plans and saved the Circle from his madness. I see you as a friend. I know I was sceptical when you first proposed the idea of the Ritualists, but… they will change the world of mages as we know it. No more Tranquil, no more Harrowings. You were brave enough to go through with the plan, and it was approved by the Divine. We worked years to get here. I know you feel responsible, but… what happened to your wife was a tragic accident.”

She paused, beseeching me with her eyes. I felt a strange coldness settle in the pit of my stomach.

“Since the incident, you have been trying to make her better. You tried _everything_. Every possible branch of healing magic, every kind of medicine available. It’s… This obsession has consumed you, hollowed you out. As your friend, I’m telling you… She is not getting better. She’s getting worse. I know you don’t want to hear this, but perhaps… perhaps it would be more merciful to… let her go. In her case, perhaps Tranquillity –“

“No.”, I interrupted, although I hadn’t consciously chosen to speak.

“I refuse to give up hope. Don’t _ever_ suggest such a thing to me again.” 

Wynne drew away from me, but not out of fear at my fierce denial. Her expression turned sad, and her sage, grey eyes filled with… pity. She _pitied_ me.

I turned on my heels and strode off towards the Circle Tower without another word to her. My thoughts tripped over each other as I struggled to understand the world around me. Prevented Uldred’s plans. It’s a good thing Meredith doesn’t stand on strict protocol. No more Tranquil, no more Harrowings. The Ritualists. _My wife_.

The gates were wide open, and several young mages sat on benches outside the Tower walls, enjoying the hot summer day. As I entered the grand vestibule, I saw a pair of female apprentices chatting up one of the templars patrolling the halls. They laughed, perfectly friendly with each other.

An older mage hurried by, shuffling through some notes he carried as he went, his hands moving as he described constant spells. Nobody paid him any heed. The templars seemed to be there as a house guard, rather than to guard the mages from themselves. As I walked the corridors, many greeted me respectfully.

Yet in every pair of eyes, carefully hidden behind the courtesy, there was the same pity I had seen in Wynne. I climbed the stairs, up and up, to where I knew the Knight-Commander’s quarters to be. On the way there, I bumped into a very young girl – she couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Her arms were bare, showing extensive patterns stung into her skin. Tattoos.

“I’m s-so sorry, ser… Oh! Knight-Commander!”, she babbled, jumping back, eyes wide as she looked up at me. Like a scared rabbit, she tried to dart out of my way.

“Wait, girl.”, I said, making her freeze. “Those markings… When did you receive them?”

She stared at me without comprehension for a moment, then seemed to gather herself.

“Oh, a week ago. Ritualist Mara said it’s better to do it early with me, since I had some problems with my magic. But everything is fine now! I feel a lot better. They just itch so much. It’s very hard not to scratch.”

“Indeed. I remember when I…”, I began, but my words trailed away. Instinctively, my hand went to my arm-guard, fingers pushing beneath the stiff leather. There should have been something there, a sensation… a light tingle, a sensitivity to touch. Only there wasn’t. The girl was beginning to eye me rather curiously. I cleared my throat and dismissed her, continuing my journey up the tower.

The Knight-Commander’s quarters had always been on the fourth level – a spacious assortment of rooms even when one considered the general size of Kinloch Hold itself. The main corridor formed a ring around the entire floor, with doors leading off to the templar lodgings on both sides.

As I stepped through the most elaborate door on this level, I emerged into a wide reception room. The impressive, stained glass windows on the far side were open to allow in the summer breeze, and somebody had taken care to put paper-weights on the many piled correspondences on the grand desk, the room’s most prominent feature.

This was my study, I realized. Where I read reports, wrote letters, received subordinates or held counsel with the mages. Those were parts of my responsibilities as Knight-Commander. I went to the desk and filed quickly through the topmost letters. Their contents mostly referred to the Ritualists, the progress in their training, plans to recruit more potentials, the locations where they would be assigned.

My life’s work, my greatest achievement. I had changed the world forever. Made it better. Somehow, I had erased the need for mages to suffer through the horrors of a Harrowing, to be neutered through Tranquillity. But… What had it cost me? Pride should have filled my chest. Instead, I felt a petrifying regret grip my heart like a vice. I wanted to destroy something. My hands began trembling so violently, I dropped the sheet of paper I’d lifted.

A dark wooden door stood slightly ajar to my left, and there was a soft sound coming from behind it. The tinkling of wind chimes, and… a hum. Chills raced down my spine, but my feet moved on their own towards the door, even though something inside me leaned up against passing through it. I was afraid.

As quietly as I managed, I pushed the door wide. Beyond it was a spacious, light-flooded room, its walls panelled with sandy wood. Both tapestries and furniture were held in warm colours – soft cream, sunny yellow, eggshell white. A vase filled with fresh pink primroses stood on a beautifully carved side-table. At least a dozen wind-chimes clinked out their soft melodies, scattered around the entire room. A slender figure sat in a lovely rocking chair, facing one of the open windows. Her black hair fell around her shoulders. There was a blanket on the carpeted floor beside her.

“Selkie.” My voice sounded strange to me, choked up. I rushed to her, ignoring the warnings my instincts were whispering to me. She didn’t react to my call, but kept looking vacantly out the window as if she hadn’t even heard me. Her hands were moving fluently, absent-mindedly… but I felt no magic from her. I sank to my haunches in front of her.

“I was so worried. Everything seems… not quite right. I was afraid something has happened to you –“

As I spoke, I reached for her hand. No sooner had my fingers brushed hers, when Selkie jerked away with a sudden cry. She cringed from my touch, whimpering wordlessly, hugging her arms around her midriff. As if… as if she was in pain. Shocked beyond words, I froze, my hand still hovering between us.

“Sweetheart… It’s me.” I didn’t understand the world anymore. Foolishly, I reached for her again.

“No!”, she keened. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to shrink before my eyes. “Go away. Go away. You feel too much! You’re pouring it everywhere. I can’t – breathe –“

She gasped for air like a drowning person. Unable to watch her suffer, I retreated, even though her desperate pleas threatened to tear me in two. She couldn’t abide my presence. My closeness. It caused her pain. I felt crippled, half a person. Not even half.

“You shouldn’t touch her.”, a voice roused me suddenly. The words were spoken without inflection, in the typical monotone of the Tranquil. A tall woman stood in the doorway, gazing at me serenely. The chantry symbol was branded into her forehead.

“Who are you?”, I demanded. No surprise showed on her features at the question.

“You know me, Knight-Commander. I am Anja, your wife’s caregiver. You hired me after the incident.”

Anja strode into the room – which I now realized was my wife’s solar – and unceremoniously picked up the blanket from the ground. She folded it with a few deft motions, then settled it over Selkie’s lap and tucked it into place. Selkie allowed this without protesting, but she was still leaning away from me, the muscles of her neck rigid.

“Come away, ser.” I was too stupefied to gainsay Anja as she led me away from Selkie. With some distance between us, I watched her shoulders unstiffen. She resumed staring out of the window in silence.

“What happened to her?”, I demanded from Anja. Tranquil don’t feel surprise, or anything else in fact. The woman’s expression didn’t change at all, and even if my question might have been strange to anyone else, it wasn’t to her.

“Your wife performed the Ritual of Balance on a difficult case. An elven mage heavily besieged by the Fade. I don’t know the details, but something went wrong. The mage died. Your wife’s magical powers were damaged beyond repair, and so was her mind. She lost all ability to close herself against the aura sight. The First Enchanter called it Spirit Disinhibition.”, Anja answered without reservation or regard for my feelings.

“_She is an exposed nerve now. Raw. Unprotected_.”, I heard Wynne say solemnly. “_We all keep a balance in our minds. A natural separation from the outside world that tells us where the ‘I’ ends and the ‘Others’ begin. This barrier is destroyed in her_.”

Suddenly weak in the legs, I sank into an armchair. My vision blurred. With a macabre sort of double perception, I remembered. I had asked her to try the Ritual on that case. We’d been in the early stages of training the Ritualists, and I’d been drunk on our previous successes.

She had expressed her concerns. I’d implored her to try anyway.

If we could learn from such difficult cases, we could do even more. We could change the world forever. We could help _everyone_. It was such a good cause, such a _pure_ cause. And I’d been blinded by the obsession to make it work. Trusting me, she had gone on to perform the ritual.

“Maker… What have I done?” My voice shook. I felt sick. My insides seemed filled with poisonous acid.

The horror of my mistake barely had time to catch up with me. From one moment to the other, the world shivered, and then froze completely. Time came to a standstill, until even the air seemed to solidify. Selkie had reached out a hand to catch a leaf, which was now suspended in mid-air. Her fingers had halted in the motion, her chest not moving for breath.

Before I could react, a quiet snicker behind me made me shoot up from the chair and whirl around. A little girl sat on one of the windowsills. There was no sun beyond the window, only utter blackness. Even my gaze seemed to bounce off the void behind her. An unfathomable abyss.

And the girl… She had Selkie’s eyes. Long, golden locks fell around her narrow shoulders. She smiled beatifically, but that smile raised every single hair on my nape.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”, the girl asked in a chiming voice. Light-footedly she jumped off the windowsill and clasped her hands behind her back. Her head tilted in a gesture of curiosity. When she took a step towards me, I instinctively retreated.

“Demon.”, I hissed between my teeth. “You don’t fool me with innocent looks, vile creature.”

The girl’s smile turned into a malicious grimace which looked downright ghastly on her angelic features. In a lightning-quick motion I drew my sword and swung it at the demon in disguise – but the girl’s silhouette flickered and disappeared before my blade could ever make contact. She reappeared above, hanging upside-down from the ceiling, shaking her head rebukingly.

“Tsk, tsk. Humans! Resorting to violence instead of civilized dialogue. How crude.”

“What did you do to me, demon?! Get out of my head!”, I snarled, readying myself to attack again. But my eyes flickered uncertainly to the forms of Selkie and Anja, who both still were frozen like statues.

“I only did what you wanted!”, the girl said, innocent blue eyes widening.

“_You lie!_”, I yelled, and then lunged.

Again, the creature evaded me. This time, the girl rematerialized on the windowsill, legs dangling. As I watched, the disguise melted away slowly. But instead of a monstrous form, what stood face to face with me then was a tall, elegantly dressed elf.

The mischievous nonchalance of youth dominated his features, which were stunningly handsome. His dark hair was bound into an elaborate queue. Momentarily dumbfounded, I backed away a step.

“My dear fellow, I have no need of lies. I can see behind the curtains, even better than your beloved here can. Where is your gratitude? I gave you what you wished for. Don’t you like this world?”

Gracefully, he lifted his arms and gestured to our surroundings. The expression on his face was almost fond, like a proud father looking upon his children.

I growled in menace, yet the demon went on undeterred.

“You humans are peculiar creatures. You’re never satisfied with what you have. This is your life without your greatest regrets! You should be rejoicing! I erased them from your past. They never happened.”

“At what cost?! You took Selkie from me! Look at her!” My rage burst into flames as I began understanding what this bizarre place was. 

A subtle, sinister smile fleeted across the demon’s fine face.

“There is no change without sacrifice, mortal. It is the way of things. Besides, it was you who pushed her, remember? Overzealous and proud of your grand plan, you sacrificed what you loved in order to change the world for the better. Don’t blame on me what your pride has wrought.”, he said dispassionately.

“This is not the world I wanted, or the life. This is your treachery!”, I pointed the tip of my blade at him. He sighed in a dramatic fashion.

“Mortals… Fine. You want out?” With a snap of his long, elegant fingers he made a dagger appear before me from thin air. It hovered there, gaudy and decadent, its hilt decorated with priceless jewels.

“Don’t forget. No change without sacrifice.” The demon snapped his fingers again, and disappeared. With him went the eerie void window, and the time-freezing spell he had put on the scenery. I caught the dagger in one hand before it hit the ground.

Anja and Selkie came alive again, as if nothing had happened. Anja left the room discreetly, probably to go about her duties. Selkie caught the leaf, inspecting it with a tiny frown. I sheathed my sword, but kept the dagger in one hand as I cautiously approached my wife.

I understood what the demon wanted me to do, in exchange for my escape from this world. The woman I loved sat before me. Completely altered. Guileless. Illuminated by the summer sun, the soft breeze playing with strands of her hair. My heart felt close to breaking.

“You seem so real.”, I whispered, stretching my hand longingly towards her. Something in my voice seemed reach her, wherever she dwelled most of the time these days. Her eyelids fluttered, but… she didn’t flinch from me. I brushed my fingers over her cheek, her hair, in the lightest of touches. How long has it been since the last time I’d touched her? Months? Years?

“I have memories of things that never happened…”, I told her softly. “Our wedding. My sisters bickered over who should help you prepare… You wore your hair open, the way I liked it best. There were little white flowers woven into it. I remember their scent.”

A small smile had stolen its way onto Selkie’s face. For a long minute, it was silent. Then she spoke.

“Mia’s husband built us a wedding arch from ash wood, and she decorated it with her flowers. Bluebells. Lily of the valley. It was the second of Bloomingtide. The weather was warm, but not hot. You were so handsome in black and gold.”

For the first time, she met my eyes. The vacant emptiness in those blue depths seemed to clear, and for an instant, she looked like the Selkie I knew.

“I know that something is wrong.”, she said. “I can feel it.”

I didn’t have the courage to tell her the truth. My mind was still trying to comprehend it all. I had memories that felt so tangible, as if… as if I had lived two lives. If those memories were real, did it mean that this world was real too, in some twisted way? Then… this Selkie would be real, to some extent.

“You have to go back.”, she interrupted my thoughts. Her voice sounded lucid, sober.

“I – I can’t. The demon – he wants me to… to sacrifice you. And I just can’t hurt you, love. Real or not real – I just can’t bear it.”, I told her desperately.

“And since when did you start bowing to a demon’s will?”, Selkie queried. She was so much her old self in that critical remark, it gave me pause.

And she was right. I had never bowed to a demon’s will. Not in this world or any other. This creature holding me imprisoned… He was arrogant, prideful, self-centred. He wanted to prove his point – that mortals can always be manipulated into sacrificing what they love for selfish means.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Cole spoke at the back of my head. “_Be what he hates. Be what disgusts him. He’ll drop you_.” 

I inspected the blade in my hand, turning it so the pointy end faced towards my chest. Sacrifice. But not the one _Aranehn’banal_ wanted.

“The life you are going back to. What is it like?”, Selkie asked gently.

“It’s harsh and hazardous. There is war and peril. But we are together there, too. And when you are with me… the world is a better place. A bright, beautiful place. But… you have been taken from me, and you’re in great danger… I have to rescue you.”

Her lips tilted into an affectionate smile. “You haven’t changed. In this life or any other, you are still the man I fell in love with.” With exceeding care, she leaned in to kiss me tenderly.

“Go now. Save me!”

I hesitated. “What will happen to you?”

“I’ll become a memory. A glimpse into a different life. A lesson learned.”

“A life without regrets….”, I shook my head. “There can be no such thing.”

“Exactly, my love.” 

With Selkie’s determined words, my hesitation faded. As I drove the blade into my chest, right through my heart, I understood something at last, something Selkie had tried to teach me for so long. Regrets belonged to life. They cannot be undone, erased. Others will simply take their place. But they can be accepted. Forgiven. Laid to rest.

As predicted, the demon was utterly sickened by my selfless act. This time, it was he who recoiled from me, dropping me like a child dropping an unwanted toy. I knew I’d done the right thing when I jolted awake to the sight of Cole’s face above me.

It was damp and cold where I lay, a dim blueish light suffusing everything. Beyond Cole, I could see an ancient-looking dome overgrown with lichen-like plants. I sensed the hum of the Eluvian behind me, some distance away. Alec and Dorian stood close by, immediately reacting when they saw I was awake.

“Thank the Maker, you’re back!”, Alec exclaimed.

“He held you tightly, but you knew what to do. You are more than before, and less at the same time.”, Cole said quietly. For once, I knew precisely what he meant.

“How long was I out?”, I asked hoarsely.

Alec and Dorian exchanged a look. “Just a few minutes, but it was impossible to rouse you. Why?”

I wasn’t ready to tell anyone what I had experienced in the demon’s designed world.

“It just felt… a lot longer.”, I answered evasively. “Did anyone else fall unconscious?”

Dorian shook his head. “No, but most of us are still disoriented by the journey through that weird mirror.”

“Journey – right. So… Where are we?”, I wondered. 

Again, Alec and Dorian glanced at each other. Alec cleared his throat.

“You are not going to believe this. I’m not sure I believe it.”

“What?” His odd reply confused me.

“Come. It’s best if you see it with your own eyes.”


	42. XLII. My Kingdom Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so... Phew... This one is long. I planned it as two chapters, but then decided to split it differently...   
I'm just going to leave this here without much further comment!  
But please comment after you are done, I'm very unsure how this chapter came out. It's always like that with the last few chapters, my expectations for my writing are much higher and I'm a lot more critical with myself.   
Enjoy reading and I really hope it's a thrilling one!   
<3

### XLII. My Kingdom Come

The Weaver

* * *

Not so long ago, I would have given an arm and a leg to see a city hidden beneath the ocean. To explore the streets where Elya had walked, calling down streaks of water to dance in whimsical ribbons above the main square. To stroll through the great temples where Elwin had taught his pupils about qai, passing on wisdom he’d learned from the spirits.

If only the end of this journey wouldn’t be an ancient demon wanting me to release him from his prison, so he could unleash his vengeance upon the world. Where was my silver lining?

I was still weak and shivery when Claudio decided to continue our trek towards the imposing temple. In my weakened state, it was difficult to keep track of the route we took, but I tried nevertheless. We had come from a different domed building, one of the most intact ones in the entire city. As often as I could, I attempted to spot the statue on its top – some kind of graceful sea-serpent.

Once upon a time, the city must have been a flawless creation filled with masterworks of masonry. Yet great parts of it had collapsed centuries ago, blocking off roads with piles of debris. The ground was often littered with shattered crystals whose light had long expired.

Entire buildings had fallen onto other buildings in such a way that I had to wonder if these parts of the city had once floated above the ground. Impossible. And yet here they all were, the things I had thought to be legends and children’s stories Ariu had told me about.

We traversed this mythical place, me with my hands bound and my powers depleted, and the Venatori who looked less and less impressed and more like they wanted to leave as soon as possible.

All except Claudio. His triumphant mood didn’t abate. On the contrary. He seemed to get more excited the closer we got to the temple. I tried to conserve the little energy I had left, focusing my mind on gathering strength. But it was wretchedly difficult. The demon’s aura became more pronounced, more pervasive. I sensed him lurking at the edge of my thoughts, barely hiding his giddiness. He couldn’t leave his prison, but he had stretched forth as far as possible to spy on the world outside.

Sooner than I had hoped, we arrived at the wide plaza in front of the temple. It was encircled by a dozen or so statues standing on impressive plinths. Some had tipped over, crumbled to the ground, broken to pieces. A few had survived the vagaries of time, remaining as testaments to an empire built through unfathomable magic. The statues were all elves, more elegant and mysterious than any elves I had seen. Solas would have had a lot to dream about here.

The temple entrance rose before us, a giant stone arch leading into the bowels of the demon’s prison. I bristled against the blood-chilling aura that radiated from inside. Digging in my heels, I leaned up against the men holding me by the arms.

“It’s not too late to stop, Claudio. This is madness! He will kill us all!”, I appealed urgently to him. If he had any good sense left –

“Silence.”, he cut me off. “My loyal mages will hold the demon until I perform the binding ritual. Then he will be mine…”

Corvo and Marcus exchanged a look behind Claudio’s back. I felt their uncertainty, and… fear. They were on the verge of complete fatigue. The confidence they had boasted at the beginning of this whole ordeal had slowly been chipped away. Their comrades had died. Claudio had worked them to the bone, expecting sacrifice right down to giving up their lives for the cause. And now that they were finally at their destination… He expected them to fight off a creature of unknown power and abilities. 

Claudio began climbing the steps into the temple, unaware of the hesitation in his men.

“We are going to die here, Corvo.”, Marcus whispered. He and his partner Dante had both been injured. They were limping, their elaborate Venatori robes torn and soaked in blood at places. Hastily patched wounds, but the rush would cost them in the long run. They were starting to feel it already.

“Probably.”, Corvo replied. He was the youngest of them, not much older than me perhaps. His jet-black hair fell in damp strands around his angular face. Corvo was not a mage – he was a warrior, the only one left after Claudio had sent his men to hold back Cullen and the others on the Dragon. Dante had sunk to the steps, holding his side.

“I never wanted to go on this mission.”, he rattled. “I wanted to excavate in the Approach… Damn it.”

“Let me go. Please! Let me go and I will appeal to the Inquisitor to let you live –“

But Corvo squeezed my arm so forcefully, I yelped. Right then, Claudio turned around on the steps. Quick as lightning, he cast a spell. I felt it fly, and although it was not directed at me, it made me cringe. Dante cried out in pain as the spell’s ugly magic arced through him. It was agony, simple and effective. A cruel tool to secure their obedience.

“Get up! We’re almost there!”, Claudio commanded.

With such a tyrant as a leader, my hope of finding sympathy among my captors withered. I couldn’t sense if help was on the way, or if I was truly and entirely on my own – the demon’s aura was too overwhelming, drowning out everything else.

Corvo and Marcus dragged me up the steps. I resisted. Kicking and twisting against their hold, I gave them a lot of grief on the way into the temple.

I filled my lungs with as much air as possible, and then I screamed my head off. Over and over, I cried out the names of my people, hoping against all hope that they might hear me. They must have followed, somehow. They must.

“Cullen! Alec! Dorian! I’m here! The tem-”

“Shut your mouth, woman!”, Corvo shook me so hard my teeth clashed together painfully. I bit my tongue, but none of that stopped me.

“Varric! Roslyn! The temple! To the temple!”

“What are you imbeciles doing?! Gag her!”, I heard Claudio’s enraged yell. A moment later, the breath was knocked out of me when someone locked an arm around my ribcage, holding me imprisoned. A makeshift gag was forced into my mouth and bound tightly at the back of my head. Whatever it was, the fabric tasted foul and cut into the corners of my mouth. Tears threatened to well up into my eyes, but I fought them down. I wouldn’t give these bastards the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

But my pride didn’t change the fact that I was, by all appearances, defeated. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding on to the thin hope that I might wake up from this nightmare.

Any minute now, I’ll be back in our cabin on the Stormchaser. Or home, at Skyhold. I desperately tried to escape into a place where the world was still alright.

_“I backed you into a corner. What do you do?” In my mind’s eye, Cullen stood before me, practice sword in hand, blocking my way. I darted sideways, attempting to slip through on his unguarded side. The blunted blade swung out at me, and I was driven back. _

_“Too obvious!”, he scolded. As always during these sessions, his eyes danced with excitement, luminous like amber in sunlight. When he fought without his armour, his body moved like water. Graceful and elusive. I’d never managed to beat him. I probably never would. _

_Too obvious? Alright, then. Another try. This time, I feinted to the right. Cullen took the bait, and I swished my free hand through the air, summoning a splash of water from a jug. Right into his face. _

_“Cheater!”, he spluttered, but I’d already dropped my weapon and jumped at him with all the strength I had. My lunge bore us both to the ground. _

_He laughed the whole time as we grappled with each other, allowing me to win, to nip and pinch at him until he begged me to stop. _

_That day, we scuffled like juveniles, and hadn’t a care in the world. I would never forget the simple happiness in his qai. _

_“What do I really do when I’m backed into a corner?”, I asked him afterwards._

_He smiled, almost enigmatically. “You wait for a good opening.” _

_“What if there isn’t one?”_

_“Then you make one.” _

_I looked askance at him, wondering if he was joking. But his features had grown serious. _

_“As long as you don’t accept defeat, there is a way out.”_

“Did she faint?”

“Maybe you handled her too roughly, Corvo.”

“I didn’t do a thing. She fought something fierce, then just went limp.”

I opened my eyes and saw Marcus before me. He’d removed the gag and now held my jaw, turning my head this way and that. In a bout of vicious defiance, I spit into his face. It wasn’t much though, since my mouth had gone terribly dry. Still he recoiled, cursing.

“Bitch!” His hand lifted, probably to strike me.

“Stop playing games. Bring her to me.”, Claudio’s command saved me from a blackened eye, although I’d rather have taken that instead of what was to come. When Marcus stepped aside, I froze at the sight his broad back had hidden from me.

We’d arrived in the demon’s lair at last. Before us rose a glittering crystalline shell, shaped like a huge diamond. It sat within a setting made of obsidian stone – the same kind from which the obelisks in the sea had been made.

Branches of blue crystals looped and snaked around the diamond prison, fanning out above like the crown of a tree. They spanned almost the entire temple hall, illuminating it with their spectral light. It was impossible to say if the crystal tree had grown from the prison or if the branches ended within it.

As I looked at the iridescent shell, it reminded me of a butterfly’s chrysalis. Something moved inside. A shadowy shape, undulating and writhing in its shimmering cage.

An altar-like object stood in front of this entire strangeness, and this was where Claudio waited. Corvo and Marcus hauled me forward, almost throwing me onto the flat stone surface. I landed on my knees, scraping them bloody on the hard, gritty ground.

Half-lying on the altar, I twisted my head to see the crystal prison in front of me. I sensed the demon so strongly, I could barely breathe. His mind reached for mine with insidious tendrils, trying to break my barriers and infiltrate my thoughts. The oppressiveness of his presence choked the air from my lungs.

“Please, Claudio.”, I wheezed, trying one last time to warn him. “You don’t feel him as I do. You can’t control him.”

The man with the unremarkable face looked down at me. The shortest flicker of indecision flashed in his eyes. Then he drew a dagger and began chanting the incantation to free the demon.

“Elwin himself couldn’t control this thing!”, I gasped, panic drenching me to the bones. Claudio grabbed the restraints at my back and cut them. One of his hands kept a firm hold on my wrist, while he chanted louder to drown out my desperate pleas.

I heard other voices in the background, distantly. Agitated shouts, curses in a different language. Swords clashing, perhaps. Claudio sang on. With one precise motion of his dagger, he slashed my palm open. Paralyzed by the malicious demon’s presence, a thin cry was all I managed.

But then Claudio yanked me forward and pressed my bleeding hand onto the crystal prison’s surface. There was a blast of spectral energy, and the thing inside roared with triumph. As the ancient magic recognized my heritage, my blood melted away the protective enchantments on the shell.

Surging with power, the demon began breaking open his cage. He wasn’t here physically, at least not quite – his form was half-locked inside the Fade, half-bound to… something inside that prison.

When I saw a clawed hand force its way through the splintering shell, I thought I would faint. Sounds of glass cracking mingled with chaotic shouts, Claudio’s eerie song of Elya’s Blood, and my own frantic shriek. But in between it all, I heard a voice yell my name.

“_Selkie!_”

Within the blink of an eye, Cullen was there. I didn’t know where he’d come from or how. It didn’t even matter. Claudio gave a cry and a curse, releasing my wrist. I snatched it away from the crystal as quickly as I could, crumpling to the stone floor beside the altar. My palm felt as if it was on fire, making me whimper. Strong hands caught me around the shoulders. I was pressed against a cool, hard breastplate and quickly searched for injuries.

“Maker… Are you alright? What did he –“, Cullen began, then fell silent when he saw my bleeding hand. A muscle in his jaw twitched dangerously. I shook my head, trying to concentrate beneath the stifling aura of evil around us.

“Cullen, we need to leave. Where are the others?” He helped me stand, but my legs were shaky and unsteady.

“I was at the front, faster than them. But they should be here any second now.”

In one short glimpse at our surroundings, I took in the scenery. Claudio was leaning on a stone plinth, groaning. His face was covered in blood, nose punched in. Dante lay collapsed on the ground, motionless. Cullen had incapacitated Marcus, but Corvo was still very much alive. Yet he didn’t seem to notice us. Instead, the young Venatori warrior stared at something behind our backs, a strange mixture of horror and amazement on his features. 

“We… must leave.”, I huffed, trying to gather my strength.

“You’re too hurt. Let me carry you –“

“_Oh, not so fast_.”, a voice said. Chills raced down my spine at the sound of it, because I knew at once who it belonged to. Cullen knew it as well. We both turned at the same time.

A tall, beautiful elf sat enthroned atop the cracked remnants of the diamond prison. He was magnificently robed, his long hair falling in silken strands around his shoulders. Was this what Elwin had looked like in his lifetime?

“_We meet again, mortal. A neat trick you played on me_.”, the demon addressed Cullen. I had no idea what he was talking about, but there was no time to ask.

Where were the others? We couldn’t hope to defeat this creature without them!

“Aranehn’banal.”, Cullen snarled. He pushed me behind his back, sword at the ready.

“_I’m afraid your friends ran into some obstacles. They won’t be joining us today_.”, the demon said silkily.

“If you’ve hurt them –“, I began, but all of a sudden the gorgeous elf’s features distorted with such vicious rage, his entire face _changed_.

“_Silence, worthless mortal! Your ancestor locked me away here for eons. It is time someone paid for Elya’s mistake. Don’t try to run. You won’t escape my wrath!”,_ his voice thundered through the hall in a deafening roar.

Watching his transformation made both Cullen and me flinch back in shock. Something monstrous and ugly replaced the deceptive beauty – the elf’s nose and mouth elongated, his skin turning scaly. Additional eyes sprouted up all around the two he already had, their pupils narrowing to serpentine slits.

His body changed too, in the most horrific way possible. I heard bones crack and sinews tear, as if the demon was brutally ripping himself free of the body he’d inhabited before. Shreds of skin and flesh flew into all directions. Afraid that the sight would make me sick, I averted my eyes.

“Maker turn his gaze on us…”, Cullen choked out beside me. The next moment, he wrapped his free arm around my waist and hoisted me up over his shoulder. I clutched his neck as firmly as I could. Then he was running, fleeing towards the temple exit.

I caught a glimpse of the fully transformed Aranehn’banal, as Cullen had called him. The Abyss Dweller was at least twelve feet tall, with a hideous reptilian head on a coiling neck. His body was wiry and lithe, but the claws at the end of his unnaturally long arms looked like they could slice a man in two with a single swipe. He opened his mouth – spiked with razor-sharp, glistening teeth – and an ear-splitting shriek echoed through the temple.

But as the demon launched himself towards us, he suddenly froze in place as though an invisible rope was holding him back. Behind the creature, Claudio stood with his arms raised, chanting in a foreign language. His robe was drenched with the blood from his broken nose, yet that didn’t seem to bother him right now.

All he had wanted was the Demon of the Deep under his command, and now he had gotten his chance. Corvo was on the ground, bleeding from a deep wound, his blood swirling and winding around Claudio. Apparently the binding spell required a blood sacrifice.

Aranehn’banal shrieked again, making Cullen falter momentarily. Within that shriek, I heard the demon’s distorted speech.

_“You think you can contain me, human filth?! You think you can control me? I am Abyss Dweller. I am Conceit incarnate. And this is my kingdom come!” _

He laughed with a wholehearted satisfaction. The last thing I saw before Cullen rushed down the steps at the entrance was the demon breaking through the binding spell as if it was nothing, and his claw lifting high above Claudio.

I heard the scream. Heard how abruptly it broke off. Then the sound of flesh tearing. I was trembling so violently, my teeth hurt from holding back my sobs. But I held on to Cullen.

We emerged into the wide plaza in front of the temple, with its circle of statues fairly vibrating from the demon’s shrieks. To deal with Claudio had taken him less than a few seconds, now he went into pursuit.

Several roads opened into the main plaza, but every one of them had a strange, shimmering wall that blocked the way ahead. Cullen halted for a second, looking around anxiously.

“Cullen! Selkie!” Alec’s voice was indistinct beneath the ruckus Aranehn’banal was causing in his vengeance tantrum. There were bangs and flamboyant crashes behind us – it seemed the demon had decided to go on a rampage through the temple that had been his prison, and he did it with a good deal of glee. But he wouldn’t be distracted for much longer.

Thank the Maker, we caught sight of Alec and the others. They were crowded into some sort of alley between two crumbled buildings, cut off from us through the shimmering blue barrier.

“Stay back.”, Alec commanded when we approached them. “This thing fries anything that touches it.”

“Iris! Are you alright?!”, Roslyn shimmied herself between Alec and Alistair.

“She’s hurt and weak. Can you break this barrier down? We need to leave, _now_.”, Cullen insisted tersely.

“It’s damn strong, but if the three of us pool our powers, we might create a tear in it.”, Dorian interjected.

“What happened in there?! You ran ahead, and then all kinds of strange things slowed us down. We just arrived.”

“The demon is free. He –“, I gasped out, but I never finished my sentence. Aranehn’banal burst though the temple gates, tearing down two columns with a single swipe of his claws. They cut through stone like a knife through butter.

“_Fuck!_”, the Bull yelled. “That ugly fucker is huge.”

Cullen set me down in front of the barrier, then assumed a battle-stance a few feet ahead. I could see the fatigue on his face, but he steeled himself against it. He looked over his shoulder at Alec and the others.

“Hurry. I can’t hold him off for long.”

The demon turned to face us, almost languidly. His many eyes focused on Cullen, whose remarkable height was dwarfed by the creature’s frightening size. Seeing Cullen face off against this monster scared the living daylight out of me.

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the urgent voices behind me. Spells clashed against the barrier, their impact sounds mingling with the frantic shouts of the others. Aranehn’banal opened his maw, dripping saliva down onto the ground. His forked tongue darted out, tasting the damp air.

“_Ah, mortal. I can smell your fear. The sweat on your skin. You might have cheated your way out of my game, but do you really think you stand a chance against me? This is my true form. Aren’t I beautiful_?”, his voice droned inside my head like a hive of bees. He adored himself to such a sickening degree, I wanted to retch. The faintest touch of his mind against mine made me feel tainted, soiled.

“_Elwin loved me best. I was the wisest, the most brilliant of us all. My knowledge built_ Falas’vhenan_. Sea’s Heart. But then that _mongrel_ tore the world apart. His Veil drove us all mad – or perhaps it opened our eyes to the truth?”_

I had no inkling what he meant – but to be honest, I was just glad that he was _talking_, and not killing. Alec, Dorian and Roslyn needed every second we could give them to break the barrier, because Cullen and I would not last long.

“_We will do battle once more, Elya. This time, I shall spill your insides right where you struck down your own brother_.”

And then the demon lunged, at the exact moment when something inside me leapt forward with righteous fury.

_Blood of Mine! This creature is wicked, misshapen, cursed! Its blight has to be purged from the face of the earth, once and for all! _

Several things happened at once. Aranehn’banal sliced at Cullen so swiftly, his claws were a mere blur; and still Cullen brought his sword up to parry the blow, but the sheer brute strength in the demon’s strike threw him back. He just barely managed to break his fall, rolling to his feet again.

I hadn’t even blinked once when second claw swished through the air above our heads, missing us by inches at the most. I looked up to see the demon open his great fanged jaws wide, spewing out a beam of white-blue flames. Deadly fire shot straight at Cullen, who had no shield and was just finding his balance again. Defenseless. All alone against an overwhelming foe.

I didn’t know what gave me the strength to do what I did next. Perhaps the Blood of Elya, whose fury throbbed in my heart, fuelling me to muster everything I had left. Or maybe the thought of losing Cullen – which was just unthinkable – drove me to draw on a well of unknown power within me.

But I sprang quicker than humanly possible, planting myself between Cullen and the fire. I threw up my arms, and a great cascade of seawater rushed down from above. The demon’s fire collided with my protective wall of water, ejecting steam everywhere.

“Selkie, watch out!” Cullen suddenly grabbed my arm, flattening us both to the ground to evade another merciless claw swipe. I hadn’t even seen it coming. But he was not quite quick enough. I felt something hit us, heard Cullen groan in pain. My heart skipped a beat. And another.

The sword slipped from Cullen’s hand. He still held me, but now it was more to support himself. I cast my gaze around wildly to see what had happened, crying out when I saw the deep gash on his thigh. His features twisted as he struggled to his feet, blood gushing from the wound. My breath mounted to panicked gasps as I began realizing that we wouldn’t make it.

“Run, love.”, Cullen urged evenly, pushing me away with one hand. But I wouldn’t budge.

“No. No. _No_!” I grabbed him, held on so he couldn’t shake me off. I clung to him like a tick, unwilling to let go.

“Stubborn…”, Cullen hissed between his teeth, sagging a bit sideways. He sounded _annoyed _with me. Of all the times! Bitter tears stung my eyes, but at the same time I had the urge to smile. This must be what madness feels like.

Before us, Aranehn’banal shook himself to disperse the vapor and splashes from our previous encounter. Readying himself for another attack. Claws lifting, eyes glinting with triumph.

Cullen enfolded me in his arms, protecting as much of me with his own body as he could. The voices of my friends were a strange cacophony in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut, because this was the end. We couldn’t win.

_“You will not hurt my sister, beast!” _

I had thought my Roslyn to be a sweet-tempered person, but that day she shattered my illusion of a pacifist healer. The detonation of magical energy she created was like a supernova to my senses. Her terrific spell exploded against the barrier, shattering it into a million pieces.

The demon stopped in his tracks, lifting his head. An array of frosty projectiles hit him square in the chest, driving him just a tiny step farther back. The Bull’s vicious battle-cry echoed across the plaza, its sheer force vibrating through my chest.

And then all of them were there, forming a protective circle around Cullen and me. The Iron Bull, charging right at the demon’s long legs. Varric and Cole, both of them darting in and out of sight as they worked together to expose weak points. Alec and Dorian, their staves dancing through the air to deliver offensive spells here, defensive ones there.

At the very front, Alistair held his ground with Roslyn by his side. They moved like clockwork, like two limbs of the same body, in utter unison. When he advanced, she shielded him with magic. When he had to retreat, she covered for him with streaks of ice and lightning.

“Just like old times!”, Alistair almost sounded excited as he ducked beneath the claws to deliver a slice at the demon’s hamstring. Roslyn’s shield enchantment flared up all along his right side, and he jumped back as the scaly tail lashed out at him. He couldn’t quite evade it, but Roslyn’s next spell collided with the other leg, and Aranehn’banal had to balance himself for a second.

“You’re slower.”, Roslyn rebuked the king.

“That stings, Rose!”, was his wounded reply. 

But even though all their combined strikes battered the demon relentlessly, he didn’t seem to slow much. Aranehn’banal was a tenacious monster, an aberration driven by ancient hatred against imprisonment, bolstered by vengeance.

Conceit knows no doubt. It accepts no defeat. It doesn’t give in.

“We can’t win like this! I need to call down a Mark of the Rift on him!”, Alec yelled in between the clamour of battle.

“A what?”, Roslyn turned briefly, her long silver braid flying around her.

“Give me some time and cover!”

“I have to help!“, Cullen was trying to stand again, but I pushed him down at the moment when Alec commanded harshly, “You stay there!”

“He’s right, Cullen.”, I pleaded while I ripped a long strip of cloth off my coat. I tied it firmly around his injured leg, just as I’d done in Jader after the assassin attack. Hopefully that would stop the bleeding, for now.

“We would be in their way. Neither of us can fight.”

Cullen made a low growling sound. I understood his frustration. In our state, we could do little but watch as our friends battled the demon I had released.

At first, they had the upper hand in the fight. But Aranehn’banal seemed less weakened and more manic now, lashing out with both claws and tail, disgorging his blue fire in all directions.

Cole was hit by the tail and thrown back. He collided with Varric, who caught him just in time. The Bull still stood strong at the front, until a tongue of flames licked along his arm. He roared in fury and pain.

Alistair came to his help, distracting the demon for a precious moment, but that dangerous attention earned him a flurry of claws. I heard the metallic screech as the sharp talons raked across his breastplate. The king fell to the ground, his sword sliding a few feet away from him.

“Alistair!”, Roslyn cried. Her hands were weaving barrier spells with a stunning speed.

But the demon turned his gaze to Alec, who was channelling his magical powers into the Anchor on his hand. The first rain of fire from the demon’s maw exploded against the rune-crusted barriers Dorian had erected around Alec, shattering them. I watched my friend as he was brought to his knees by the onslaught, struggling to keep shielding the Inquisitor.

Swiftly understanding the plan, Roslyn joined Dorian to protect Alec. Aranehn’banal now funnelled everything he had into thwarting them. In addition to his raw power, he was also a clever, cunning creature.

The three mages were under constant assault from his claws and his malicious magic, making it impossible for Alec to gather enough focus. Inch by inch, step by step they were driven backwards, backed into a corner. Alistair and the Bull were disabled. Varric was trying to revive a stunned Cole. Cullen heaved himself to his feet, leaning on his sword.

Was our struggle hopeless? Because of my blood, this creature of destructive power had been let loose upon the world. My friends, the people I loved, were dying to protect me. I had sworn to bring them home safely. This was all my fault. I have brought this upon us –

_Stop pitying yourself. There is fight in you yet! Now. Call down the sea and drown that wretched monster! _

That voice again. Did Elya truly speak to me through my blood, or was it my conscience, my last bit of courage coming alive? It didn’t matter.

I lifted my arms. Pleaded to the sea for help. For just a bit of strength. Strength to protect my loved ones. To bring them home. To end this nightmare.

And she didn’t let me down.

In a fierce torrent, the sea spilled down from above to pass her judgement. Aranehn’banal whipped up his head, but he couldn’t evade the flood. The water’s pressure bore him to the ground, knocking his entire body down onto the stone. I let the water splash out to the sides so it wouldn’t catch the others. The demon screeched and gurgled out his fury. He tried to brace himself, tried to stand again, but the sea and I did not let him.

“Alec! Now!”, I managed to cry out to him, my voice distorted by the loud rushing. I watched with horror how Aranehn’banal rose even against the might of the sea, how he twisted himself into shapes no natural body could take on.

“_I will never be defeated! I will enslave this world as it has enslaved me_!”

Through the mass of water, I saw the bright green light erupt like a flare. It was a beautiful sight. The Anchor illuminated the cascade fully, so that for a moment it looked like a waterfall of glittering gemstones in every imaginable shade of green. Reflections of emerald and jade fractured into strange mosaics of colour, setting the whole plaza alight.

“_No! What is this sorcery?! You shouldn’t have that power, mortal_!”, there was something close to fear in Aranehn’banal’s voice, if demons such as him even know what fear is.

The green light closed around him like a shell, reminding me of his crystalline prison. His silhouette frayed at the edges, unravelling into the jewelled waterfall as if he was being washed away by it. Like a statue of sand. He cried something unintelligible, his aura flaring up with unspeakable anger and frustration.

But he was growing smaller and smaller, waning. Disintegrated by the immense power Alec wielded in his hand. Until this king of demons, this would-be ruler of mortals, this Abyss Dweller had disappeared entirely.

Remnants of my waterfall rained down, spilling across the plaza. The green light diminished to a tiny orb floating above a pool of crystal-clear water. Alec moved his glowing hand, and the orb shattered.

Nothing remained of Aranehn’banal. Only the destruction he had wrought. 

* * *

_The Vanguard_

* * *

I’d watched in stunned amazement how Dorian, Roslyn, Alec and Selkie had battled the demon, right to the bitter end. Now Aranehn’banal was gone, thanks to the combined powers of these four exceptional mages.

Silence fell over the battlefield, and for a moment we all remained motionless, as if we expected the demon to materialize again in our midst. I think for every one of us it was hard to believe that we had defeated such a creature.

While the others panted and huffed to catch their breaths, Selkie sank limply to the ground. She caught herself with her hands, but I noticed how weak she was.

“Everybody alright? Is someone injured?”, Alec asked, leaning heavily against a fallen elf statue. I limped over to Selkie. My leg injury throbbed with every step I took, but I gritted my teeth and endured it.

“Got burned by that demon shit.”, the Bull answered first, showing us extensive burn marks on his left arm and shoulder. “Nothing I can’t handle. Stings though.”

“Let me look at that.”, Dorian grumbled, approaching the Bull for an examination.

Roslyn was helping Alistair to his feet while her faintly glowing hand hovered over him.

“Just a cracked rib or two when he hit me hard.”, the king placated her, although she kept frowning at him sternly.

Varric and Cole seemed mostly unharmed. The mages were exhausted but not seriously injured. I supported Selkie with one arm when she tried to get to her feet. Her body sagged against me with its entire weight, her breath coming in fractured gasps.

“Alec, Dorian –“, I called to them. Selkie’s hand grasped mine, her nails digging in so strongly I felt them through my glove.

“Something’s wrong.”, she whispered, sounding terrified.

“What?! Is it the demon? Tell me.”, I looked around frantically, expecting a giant shape to attack us at any moment.

“No. It’s…. the city.”

“What is it? Does she need healing magic?”, Roslyn was by our side at once, with Alistair on her heels.

At that very instant, we heard a booming noise, like water breaking through a dam. We whirled to around to see the source, all of us except Selkie. A ripple of multi-coloured light skipped along the entire sheet of sea suspended above us.

And then, as if someone had driven a blade into the blanket that held back the sea, it began to rupture and tear open, sending massive cascades of water down upon the city. I saw one building in the distance collapse beneath the pressure, waves filled with debris and stone crashing through the streets. The ground rumbled beneath our feet. 

“Maker help us.”, Alec said incredulously.

“The magic that kept this place intact is falling apart.”, Dorian said. “We need to go. Now.”

Selkie swayed, still dizzy and feeble. But when I looked at her more closely I saw that her hands were half-rigid, trembling, moving in little spastic motions. A splash of water raining down upon us suddenly redirected its flow, and I understood. She was weaving to protect us.

“I can carry her. You’re injured.”, the Bull offered gruffly.

“No, it’s alright. I can manage.” I lifted an unresponsive Selkie up over my shoulder, holding her secure with one arm.

Another crash, much closer than before. No matter how tired or wounded we were, the thought of being buried beneath the sea galvanized us into new strength. Even with my leg still throbbing painfully, I stood taller.

And so we fled.

Destruction claimed the city behind us, but we always seemed to be ahead of it, just by a hair’s breadth. I credited this to Selkie, while at the same time I feared for her in a way I had never before. She’d already reached her limits long ago. What would this insane flight do to her? Permanently damage her powers? Kill her by exhaustion?

My arm tightened around her shaking body as I darted between falling stone and shattered coral fragments. Repeatedly the water almost reached us, then was pushed back by an invisible wall. We fell and stood again. Columns almost crushed us a dozen times. The rush was deafening to the ears, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to stop hearing it.

What we did was devil-may-care. We didn’t look back. And behind us came the deluge.

We were incredibly quick to reach the dome where the Eluvian waited – hopefully still open – but it felt like a lifetime to me.

A giant column rose at the centre of the great temple-like building, with a spiral staircase winding up around it. Shimmering and rippling even from this far away, the mirror stood at the top.

We began climbing the stairs, but Selkie and I soon fell behind, both of us too weak to continue. My injured leg gave way beneath me, and the sudden stab of pain brought me to my knees.

“Can’t… Can’t hold it.”, Selkie whispered into my ear. “Need to… breathe. Set me down.”

I did as she asked, gently taking her into my arms so she wouldn’t lie on the cold stones. I knew we had no time to rest. We had no time left at all.

Vaguely, I registered the cracks appearing in the stone dome above. Eons-old marble broke and splintered beneath the immense pressure. Debris rained down, followed by great gushes of water. The sea filled up the shattered hall, climbing higher and higher up the stairs we were on.

Were we close to the top? Were we halfway there? I had no notion. Panicked screams came from further above.

“This whole place is falling apart! We have to leave!”

“Selkie! Cullen! The Eluvian is open –“

“Hurry through!”

“Jump! Come on!”

“But –“

The voices faded into the background. The destruction around me seemed like something happening far away, in another world. I had no strength to carry Selkie further. My leg was useless. And her power was fading. She couldn’t stuff every new leak in this breaking dam. There were just too many.

A sinking ship, with us on it.

I looked down at her face, twisted with pain and exertion. Blood trickled from her nose, her ear. The wound on her back had been torn open again. Her hand was extended to the dome above, trembling with the struggle to keep the water out long enough for us to flee. She met my eyes, and there was something almost wistful in their blue depths.

“I’m… beginning to think… this j…journey wasn’t our b-best… idea.”, she attempted to speak. I let out a low, bitter laugh.

“No, love… It wasn’t.”

“Cullen, Selkie! Damn it! I’m coming to –“ Alec’s yell was cut short by a giant piece of rubble crashing onto the stairs close by. I shielded Selkie from the rain of debris, which made us slide even farther down the slippery steps. I felt dampness on my legs. The water was rising. Fast. It would be over soon.

“Cullen.”, Selkie said, her voice almost inaudible among the clamour of ruin around us. Fingers fluttered over my cheek, like a small bird’s wings.

“Wish we could have… seen the Bay of Sapphire. And the White Isle. And the way the… the sun rises over Denerim… with the mists on the waves. Wish we’d danced… in public. Just once. But instead, I pulled you into… a nightmare.”, she whispered brokenly. I shook my head. 

“No, sweetheart. I know nightmares better than most. This – _you_… You are a dream. The only good dream I ever had. Now… we’ll just wake up. Together. I’m with you until the end. I’m not afraid to die. With you by my side, I fear nothing.”

She smiled at me. A warm, indulgent smile.

“S-silly man. You won’t d – die here today.” Before I could process her words, Selkie’s hand moved through the air in a motion I knew by heart. I sensed the very instant when she stopped holding back the water above, and put her last reserves into something else. 

“_No_!”, I cried out, holding on to her for dear life. But the current she summoned caught me, pushed between us, loosened my grasp on her. It ripped me away by force. The water lifted me, and I was catapulted upwards like a ragdoll.

There was a moment of horrible motion-sickness as I flew through time and space, through a star-strewn sky and the depths of the abyss.

The next I knew, I collapsed to the ground in a heap, completely drenched and stunned by agony. The impact nearly wrecked me, but I refused to lose consciousness.

“Thank the Maker, he made it! Wait –“ Alec’s voice. It was night-time on the misty little island. Alistair and Roslyn stood on wobbly legs, both of them bleeding from several smaller cuts. Dorian kneeled on the ground. Varric and Alec, crouched beside me. Cole and the Bull, supporting each other. I barely took note of my chaotic surroundings.

I turned back to the Eluvian, only to find its blueish light extinguished. It was nothing but an ancient mirror now.

“It… it closed right after you came through.”, Alec said unevenly.

“Where is Iris?”, Roslyn asked.

Nobody answered her. Nobody needed to. A deadly silence fell. I stumbled to my feet, but my injured leg folded beneath me after two steps. I dragged myself to the Eluvian while the others stood frozen in shock. My hands pressed against the worn glass. I pushed with all the strength I had. It wasn’t much.

“Open it.”, I commanded the others. One of the mages had to know how to open it again. They had to. I leaned into the mirror with my entire body. Pounded it with my fists.

She was still behind the glass. I could still save her.

“_Open it!”_ My voice had risen to a yell. But they just stood there. Why would they just stand there when Selkie was a mere step away?

It was Dorian who spoke first. “I… I don’t think we can.”

“Of course you can. It was opened by magic. Claudio opened it. So do what he did and _fucking open the damn thing_!”

Some of them flinched away from me. They didn’t understand. It was so easy. I needed to go back and get her. I needed to…

Someone touched my shoulder.

“Cullen. Look at me.”, Alec bade calmly. I jerked my head in denial. “Please, my friend.”

“Claudio opened it with Selkie’s blood, but it wasn’t closed that way. It… the one on the other end… must have been destroyed. That would close the gateway.”, Dorian said in a dead voice. 

Dizziness hit me. I felt a strange cold spreading through my limbs. A gaping void opened in my chest. It was as though someone had punched a hole through my heart and now I was bleeding all over the place, with nothing to staunch the wound. My vision wavered, suddenly blurry. My eyes stung. When I heard Roslyn sob quietly, something inside me snapped.

“No! You don’t get to cry because _she’s not dead, damn it_!”, I shouted at her. 

“Cullen…”, Alec began, but I grabbed him by the collar ruthlessly.

“Don’t. You don’t understand. The sea can’t kill her. It _won’t _kill her. She drowned once before and lived. She can’t be dead_. She can’t be dead_!” The Inquisitor didn’t fight my grip, he merely looked at me with a horrible sorrow in his eyes. He didn’t believe me.

I dropped him. And then I slammed my fist against the Eluvian so hard I felt my bones rattle painfully with the force of the blow.

“What happened?!” Matthias arrived at the scene in a run, with Ariu following some distance behind him, slowed by his limp and the crutch.

“Where is Selkie? Why is she not with you?”

Another long, pregnant pause before Alistair answered. “We were in a city beneath the sea… But it collapsed after we defeated the Abyss Dweller. It’s… submerged beneath the ocean now. Selkie… didn’t make it through with us.”

For a heartbeat, Matthias went utterly still. Then he lunged at me. I barely registered the pain when his fist connected with my face. Honestly, I didn’t care if he beat me half to death. Didn’t even try to defend myself. Cries of outrage and shock mingled with the accusations Matthias threw at me.

“_You were supposed to protect her_!”

Yes. I was. And I had failed. Instead, she had protected me.

Matthias sneaked in two more punches before being hauled away by the combined efforts of Alistair, Alec and Varric. My face was already swelling, the coppery taste of blood spreading in my mouth. With a wet cough, I spit onto the ground. I leaned against the mirror, feeling its cold surface press against my throbbing cheek.

My eyes closed. I was numb. Paralyzed. Hollow.

“It should have been you.”, Matthias snarled icily.

“Yes.”, I said in a voice I didn’t recognize. “It should have.”

“_Don’t you dare just roll over and take it you bastard_!“

“Matthias. That’s enough.”, Ariu cut in harshly.

“How can you say that? He left our daughter at the bottom of the sea _with a city collapsing on her_!”, Cornwall yelled.

“That’s not true. Cullen would have died before leaving Selkie behind.”, Alec defended me.

“She made a choice.”, Cole said quietly. “She didn’t have enough strength left to bring them both through.” 

“So she chose to save me.”, I spoke the horrible truth.

The moment the meaning of my own words reached me, I threw back my head and roared my pain to the skies. A long, drawn-out howl echoed through the mists like the death cry of a mortally wounded animal. It went on and on, carrying my heartbreak, my longing, my despair out onto the calm waves. When I ran out of breath, I closed my eyes and let unconsciousness claim me at last.


	43. XLIII. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friends, thank you for your incredible feedback after the last chapter!! It felt like you are really living this story with me, and that is all I really want to achieve with this.   
To ease the suspense, I'm uploading the next chapter now. I like this one (I wrote it much earlier than the previous ones) because i tried to make it intense, almost visceral, and I think it worked out well.   
I always welcome your feedback and I love your comments!! Have fun reading!

### XLIII. Broken

_The Vanguard_

* * *

I woke into a world bled dry of colour. A familiar ceiling of dark wooden beams, with a brass oil lamp dangling above. They’d brought me into the captain’s cabin, had deposited me on the narrow sleeping alcove I had shared with Selkie throughout our journey on the Stormchaser. Roslyn sat in a chair at the map table, a woollen blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked tired beyond words, her face pallid, her eyes dull and miserable. We were alone, but I heard raised voices from outside.

“They have been arguing what to do for an hour now.”, Roslyn remarked. “I did my best on your leg. As long as you don’t move it too abruptly, it should be fine.”

I said nothing. I knew I should have thanked her, but right then, I didn’t have the strength to utter the words. They seemed meaningless. Some part of me wished they would have left me there, on that cursed island with that cursed mirror. It was petty and selfish. I had duties. Soldiers who depended on me. Helpless people who needed my continuing leadership. As Commander of the Inquisition.

_Take heart_, I had told the men so often. _Take heart from the things you want to protect. The things you love._

Because in the end, that is where true strength comes from. Devotion. Love. Heart. Yours, mine, ours.

My heart slept at the bottom of the sea now. Gone. Far away from pain and suffering. Far away from anything. I would never hear her laugh at my clumsy jokes again. Never again wake up to find her gazing at me with a mixture of wonder and playfulness in her eyes.

I would never… never…

How could I think of going on without my heart?

Grief overwhelmed me. With every breath, more of it filled my lungs. Until it was everywhere. I ignored all else.

Some time passed, perhaps. The door opened and closed. Outside, the sky lightened, reading itself for the sun’s rise. Yet another day. It was all the same to me.

“He just keeps staring at the ceiling. He hasn’t said a word since he awoke.”

“The man is grief-stricken, Roslyn. Let him rest.”, the king’s voice spoke softly.

“But –“, Roslyn began. He hushed her.

“You saw what happened in the city. With all that rubble raining down… The dome caved in completely. You can’t think…”

“I do. I have to believe. Remember what we did when they told us one of us would die fighting the Archdemon?”, Roslyn continued doggedly.

“Rose… I wish you wouldn’t –”

“Do you remember, Alistair?”

He heaved a deep sigh. “Of course I do.”

“We made a difficult decision, and did a… a bad thing. We did it to keep each other alive, because we couldn’t bear losing each other. If there is any chance that my sister is still alive, I will stop at nothing to find her.”

Her voice sounded determined, unyielding. I turned my head to look at her. She’d stepped to me, her hand settling on my arm. I winced at the chafing sensation on my tattoo. Roslyn was no stranger, but she wasn’t truly familiar either. She taxed me with her eyes, holding my gaze.

“You were the one who said the sea can’t kill her. Help me. I need you to find that last bit of faith in your heart. I need you to believe.”

I exhaled wearily. “I don’t know what I believe. She told me once… ‘The sea is where I am strongest.’ She had so much faith in that connection.”

“Iris and I shared a connection too. It enabled us to rediscover that we are sisters by blood. It helped you to find us.”, Roslyn said, her expression pensive.

“Yes, but she sealed herself to that connection. It was dangerous for both of you. Your blood ties were too strong.”, I answered slowly.

“I understand that it was the right decision. But now we need to find her. This… on your arm. It’s a piece of her, isn’t it? She stung this. I believe that I can use this to revive our connection. To… pick up her scent, so to say. Like a bloodhound.”

I thought her suggestion over carefully. “You could sense it she is still alive?”

“Yes… But if she made it to the surface, she is hurt and weak. She needs us. I hope she doesn’t reject me… Oh Iris! You stubborn thing – why couldn’t you wait with that damn sealing spell?”

I threw a glance at Alistair, who bestowed me with a very meaningful look. Clenching my teeth against the pain, I sat up on the cot and rearranged my wounded leg. Roslyn sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face.

“Look, I just… We have lived with this misunderstanding our whole lives. Iris… rejected me when her memory returned. But when we’d shared dreams, she… consoled me. I don’t know how to explain this to you. It’s bizarre – and I have seen a lot of bizarre things. She granted me sanctuary inside her mind. Allowed me shelter for a few hours, far away from the torturers, from my heavy heart. It was a safe haven. Safety, comfort. That was how she felt when she was with you: Home. So… whatever the cost, I will try to return her to you. I refuse to give up on her now. Will you help me?”

A beat of tense silence passed. I searched her face, her earnest gaze. She meant what she said. I was in pieces already. Permitting myself to hope might shatter me all over again, for good. But if there was just the slightest chance… the smallest possibility…

“Yes.”, I said, my voice gaining certainty.

The king threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Oh, good! We are pursuing another plan that involves dangerous Fade shenanigans none of us fully understand. If I had a sovereign for every time this happens… I know it’s useless trying to talk sense into you, Rose. But even if by some miracle Selkie is still alive – we have no idea where that sunken city is. She could be at the other end of the world. How will we travel the distance in time?”

It was only then that I noticed him. He had been so still and silent during the entire conversation, he might as well have been a ghost. But now Ariu stepped from the shadows, leaning heavily on his crutch. His murky, blind gaze swept once over all of us.

“Let me worry about that.”, he said with a faint smile. “I have one last winning card up my sleeve.” 

* * *

_The Weaver_

* * *

I was drifting. Drifting away. Spilling out into the vast, wonderful entity that surrounded me. She was endless and beloved. So many voices she had – young and old, wise and simple, soothing and animating. Like ribbons coming loose from a woman’s hair, I let the being that was me unravel into her depths.

“Is that you again, Blood of Mine?”, someone wondered curiously. A mother. Benevolent, knowledgeable, perceptive. She reminded me of Mother.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson the last time? This place is not for you. Not yet. Too many strings still hold you.”

“Last time?”, I asked, confused. My thoughts didn’t seem to be working well. I kept falling but she caught me, like a she-wolf lifting her cub by the scruff of the neck.

“Not so long ago, yes. But I sent you back then. You did well with the demon, young one. It was high time that someone defeated him. I knew you were up to the task. You have my blood, after all. But what do I do with you now?”

She examined me thoroughly, her fathomless mind sliding softly against mine. It wasn’t intrusive. It was familiar, the same sensation I had every time I weaved water.

“What do I do?”, I asked her childishly.

“Well, that is up to you, isn’t it? There is always a choice. Do you want to go back?”

“Back.”, I repeated.

“Are you sure, my child? It will be difficult. Life always is.”, she cautioned me sagely.

“Life. Others. Home. Love… My love. Go back.” I wasn’t making any sense, but she understood me nevertheless.

“Very well, so it will be. Until you are finished with this life, do not come to me again. When you are ready – and only then – we shall see each other again.”

As if it took her no effort at all, she tossed me up and back into the living world. But she kept the memory of our meeting. All I would remember was a generous smile, and a warm caress, like a mother’s gentle hand tousling my hair.

* * *

I experienced a rude awakening into life. And aye - it must be life, because by the Maker, dying shouldn’t hurt this much. This was the first thing I observed, and it annoyed me a great deal. It shouldn’t feel like I have shattered into a thousand pieces, all resonating pain back at me. It shouldn’t feel like my lungs were spasming desperately to choke up the foreign substance within them. Or like I was on fire in several places. My back. My hand. My leg.

I shouldn’t have a body at all. But apparently, I was still trapped within the one I’d been born with, my soul unwilling to detach itself. Accompanied by gurgling coughs, I discharged a frightening amount of salty water, and inhaled one tiny sip of air. Air. Even that smallest amount burned in my throat, like a brand of white-hot iron fresh from the smith’s anvil.

Water lapped up around me, pushing me farther up the rocky ground. All the pains flared up at once, nearly clobbering my mind into unconsciousness. But an irrational anger kept me from giving in.

I hadn’t expected to wake up again. Hadn’t expected ever to endure physical discomfort again. Now I hated the fact that sensation returned to me in stages, so that I could catalogue all the things that were wrong with me.

My right leg was the worst. But the thirst in my parched throat kept distracting me, and I hated that even more. The water chilled me down to the bones, but my body was too exhausted to shiver itself warm.

Cold. Miserable. Alone.

My eyes stung. I forced them to open anyway. It took an eternity for my vision to adjust.

Night-time. Darkness. A little bit of moonlight. Washed up on the shore.

I lay on a bed of small rocks, grey and black and brownish ones. Frothy waves swept over the beach every few seconds, snickering mischievously.

Aye, I told the sea fiercely. You’d had your fun with me again. I wasn’t supposed to live. Not like this, broken into pieces. The agony in my leg became worse with every passing moment. It throbbed like a thousand exploding hearts, radiating out from my knee.

I tried to move.

Digging my hand into the pebbles and rocks, I dragged myself out of the water. One agonizing inch after the other. I paused several times. Screamed. Retched. It felt as if my leg was trying to tear itself off the rest of me. Just the weight of it was excruciating. I knew I wouldn’t be able to crawl, much less stand on it.

I kept up the slow, painful struggle to gain a bit more ground. Just a foot’s length. Or two. To be out of the cold, the dampness. The air would dry me sooner or later. Probably. If it didn’t rain. When I didn’t feel the sea lapping at my feet anymore, I stopped, panting from the exertion.

I hadn’t known there could be a state in life where one might be too hurt to even cry. My thoughts were sluggish and senseless. In a complete muddle.

With tremendous effort, I rolled onto my back. Which burned and stung something fierce in response, but that was still nothing compared to my leg. When my erratic heartbeat had calmed down somewhat, I readied myself for the inevitable.

Breathe. Deep breaths. In, out. Aye. My fingers ghosted down my thigh in the lightest touch I could manage. The leather of my breeches was torn. Scratches on my palms, and the cut from Claudio’s blade. At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

I reached my swollen knee. The skin was feverishly hot, and even this light touch made stars dance across my vision. But something worse waited for me further down. I knew. The trembling fingertips reached my shin. And the edge of something sharp protruding from it. Wet. Sticky. A horrible sob tore from my throat. I had begun hyperventilating long before I took a look.

Let me tell you, nothing is quite as shocking as seeing one of your bones sticking out of your body. An insane giggle escaped me. Then I gagged, my stomach contracting to expel its contents. Not much came out.

“Help…”, I sobbed feebly. My voice was hoarse, faded. It didn’t really matter. Nobody had answered my cries from before. Instead of dying quickly by being buried in the sunken city, I would die slowly, painfully. On a deserted beach. From infection, most likely. Or thirst. Was it madness to hope that a predator might decide to eat me?

I’d always thought I would die by fire. My addled mind wondered if I’d cheated death twenty years ago, when I’d survived the burning inn. Maybe I should have died there with my brother, and this horrible fate was how I would pay for my borrowed time.

Considering the state of my body it seemed impossible, but I drifted off into sleep. Not the healing kind. A sodden, exhausted sleep that brought no true respite. My frayed consciousness groped after solace, and found the place where my heart longed to be. Home.

“Sweetheart.”, Cullen whispered softly. “Time to wake.” His touch, feathering lightly over my shoulder. Being tucked into the sheltering circle of his arms. His lips at my ear, bristly jaw tickling my neck. The warmth of sunlight on my face. The sounds of Skyhold beyond the walls.

“I’m still tired.”, I grumbled in protest. It was wonderful to lie here with him. I didn’t want to get out of the cosy bed, leave the security of his embrace. It was cold out there. The pain hadn’t disappeared. It was just waiting patiently to make its return. I felt it hovering close by. 

“I know, love. I know you are. But you have to wake up.”, he said more firmly. Did I have such a memory of him? I nestled further into his arms.

“Why? I want to sleep… Just sleep…” My voice sounded small, juvenile. Afraid.

“Do it for me, Selkie. Please. Wake up. Fight. Don’t leave me alone in this world. I love you so much.”

I woke back into the pain with a sharp yell, because I had turned to my side in my sleep. This time, I did cry. Scalding tears welled from my eyes as I shivered violently in the chill which seemed to have taken root within the marrow of my bones.

The sky lightened with the first signs of dawn, the stars slowly fading at the edge of night. I could hear the cries of sea birds, the rush of the waves. After about thirty feet, the shingle beach ended in greater rocks and uniformly grey cliffs, with a forest rising above the ridge the rocks formed. Even if I could somehow make it to the cliffs… I could never climb them with my broken leg. A dreadful hopelessness began to spread through me. Why fight it? Why struggle?

_I love you so much._

I gasped in a breath, trying not to think of the pain, the injuries, the cold. Trying to hold on to a shred of hope. Cullen was right. I had to fight.

The sun rose over the churning ocean, while I spent my time clawing my way up the shoreline. I needed to get to the cliffs, at least. Twice, I tried to stand, and twice the pulsing agony in my right leg sent me back to the ground. I kept blinking in and out of awareness, only able to measure the passing hours by the sun’s movement across the sky.

By midday, my thirst had become overwhelming. A headache pounded in my temples, and no matter how often I swallowed, my tongue stayed rough like sandpaper. My lips were dry and cracked. I stopped licking them when I realized it only made my thirst worse.

I was beginning to feel light-headed and strangely carefree. Hunger set in as well, accompanied by an ever-present nausea. It was easier to ignore the yawning emptiness in my stomach than the thirst, though, which slowly but surely overtook even the other hurts in my body. By nightfall, my clothes had at least partially dried. I’d made it about halfway up the shore, but if I didn’t find fresh water and shelter soon…

I’d lost a lot of blood. And I was losing the little hydration my body had still retained by sweating too much. Not from heat. It was the cold, foul sweat of sickness. Curling in around myself, I tried to sleep. Teeth-chattering chills kept alternating with hot flashes, robbing me of the little rest I might have found. Making me wish I had the strength to gather a bit of driftwood for a fire.

I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when I was woken by a sound. Soft snuffling, somewhere close by. An animal sound. Deep darkness surrounded me. The moons hadn’t risen yet. The snuffling came closer, and I heard paws tread over the pebbly beach.

Play dead, instinct whispered. I went utterly lax, just when a wet nose touched my temple. The creature sniffed me over methodically, before it began licking my cheek with a thick, moist tongue. There was a high-pitched whine close to my ear, almost like a whistle. The next I knew, something warm lay down beside me, pressing close to my body. I dared to open my eyes.

It was a dog, that much I could discern in the darkness. Large and greyish, with a shaggy, rough coat. The dog suddenly threw back its head and bayed to the skies. A moment later, I heard footsteps from the cliffs.

“What is it Maya? Here, girl!”, a man called out. At the sound of his voice, the dog howled again. And then the flickering light of a torch emerged between two rocks. I thought I would weep.

“Help! Please, help!”, I croaked out as loudly as I managed.

The firelight illuminated the middle-aged man who stepped onto the beach, holding his torch high. He was tan and dark-haired, dressed in simple leathers and a fur cloak, with a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. Probably a hunter.

“What did you – sweet Andraste’s mercy!” As soon as he saw me on the ground, he broke into a nimble run. Once he’d reached me, the man stuck his torch into the pebbles and kneeled. His dog whined anxiously deep in her throat, but didn’t leave my side.

“Don’t move, girl. Maker, your leg… You’re badly hurt.”, he said, touching my arm when I stirred feebly. His bearded face blurred in front of my eyes as my tears came.

Someone had found me. Perhaps there was still hope –

“It’s alright. It will be alright. My name is Flynn. I have a hunting lodge nearby. Where on earth did you come from?”

I registered distractedly that his accent was Fereldan. “I’m… Selkie.”, I managed despite my parched throat. “Water… please.”

Flynn reacted at once, pulling a small waterskin from his belt. He trickled a bit of water into my mouth. Cool, sweet, fresh. I groaned with sheer delight, even as I struggled to swallow it all. It was exhausting. After a few more ounces, I shook my head weakly. Despite the horrible, hollowed-out feeling in my stomach, it seemed to rebel against sustenance. Still thirsty… But I feared if I drank more, I would vomit it up again. Flynn did a swift examination of my other injuries and touched my forehead. A deep frown crept to his brow. 

“You are burning up. I need to get you inside, quickly.”, he said, his deep voice grim. “This will hurt.”

He tried to be gentle as he lifted me. But when he pushed his hands beneath my knees to leverage me upward, the pain of it nearly split me in two. I cried out, my vision going hazy and dark around the edges. Maya circled us, growling apprehensively.

“I know. I know. Forgive me.”, Flynn huffed, hoisting me up into his arms. But that wasn’t the worst part. Every step he took sent daggers into my leg. I swear I felt each heartbeat in the shattered kneecap, in the broken shinbone. My blood was filled with razorblades. I was relieved when Flynn started climbing a steep cliffside path, and one of the lurches stunned me witless.

I passed out.

* * *

This time, I was gone for a while. Drifting through strange shadows and fog. I thought I heard someone call my name, over and over again. But to flee the pain, I had retreated to a place so far into the depths of my mind, the voices could not reach me.

After some time, other voices joined in, closer and much louder. Disconnected scraps of conversation reached me, the words strangely amplified and yet it was difficult to grasp their meaning.

“… thankful for small mercies… was unconscious for most of it…. set her leg, but the break was bad… open for too long… likely get infected, if it’s not already…” Female voice. Practical, precise. A wet tongue scraping over the back of my hand. Something warm and furry pushing beneath my palm.

“… grateful for your help, Agatha… her chances? … she make it?” The man from the beach. Flynn. I struggled to concentrate on what they were saying. I opened my eyes a bit, but everything around me was too bright, shiny. It hurt to look at the light. And it was too hot. Sweltering. But still, I shivered.

“It’s not good, Flynn. The fever has already set in. She’s delirious. I took care of the smaller injuries, but that leg… That’s beyond my skill. I set the shinbone, but the kneecap is shattered. Even if she survives the infection, she’ll likely be crippled for the rest of her life. Unless you get her healing magic, I fear she might not make it through.”, the woman went on quietly.

“Two days on a fast horse to the nearest healer I know… She doesn’t have that kind of time. Poor girl. Maya found her washed up on the shore, all alone. Didn’t leave her side since. She’s a wise beast. Still… A young girl like that shouldn’t be dying among strangers. Doesn’t seem right.”

“Maybe she is hunted. It’s an odd thing. There has been no ship traffic for days.”, Agatha mused.

“Yes, odd…”, Flynn replied at length. “I’ll stay with her. Thank you for your help, Agatha.”

The door had barely closed before my mind was dragged under again. Bizarre images haunted me in my restless sleep, nightmarish pictures of the giant dome collapsing on me. Raining cracked stone and tons of water down to bury me alive. But in my dream, it buried us all. I had to watch the bodies of my friends float to the bottom of the sea, like broken puppets cut loose from their strings.

And all the while, a pair of piercing eyes stared at me from the darkness. Whispers reached my ears, speaking in strange tongues, snickering when I tried to listen. They wanted me to do something, but I didn’t know what.

I wandered through mist and shadow, through fever-bright sceneries too beautiful to be real. Enchanted forests where dryads hopped jauntily through the golden sunbeams. A city of crystals and white marble, its streets filled with people. Their clothes were spun from light and pure colour, but they had no faces.

I woke to the sound of my own cries. Someone leaned over me, and for the briefest moment I saw Cullen’s face there, making my heart soar. But when I blinked he was gone, replaced by Flynn’s weathered features. I went limp.

“Calm, girl.”, Flynn said softly, as if he was soothing a recalcitrant mare. “Here. Try drinking a bit of this. It’s broth from the pheasant I shot yesterday.”

Supporting me with one arm, he held a cup to my lips and coaxed me to take few sips. It was sweet and salty at the same time, with a rich, savoury taste. I managed to drink half the cup before my insides clenched with nausea. Flynn eased me back to the bed.

I tried to get my bearings, but it was difficult to focus on anything for too long. The house we were in was made of wood, the furnishings those of a typical hunter’s lodge. Furs, antlers, rustic plaidweave. I lay on a comfortable pallet of blankets and straw. Maya the dog was stretched out by my side, her warm body keeping the chill at bay.

“You keep saying that name.”, Flynn called on my attention as he wiped the sweat from my forehead. My hair had gone lank, sticking to my damp neck and face. I could feel the infection rampaging through my body, burning away the last reserves of strength.

“Mostly you spoke gibberish in your fever-dreams.”, Flynn continued. “But that name seems important to you… Cullen.”

I gathered myself enough to speak, but his face kept sliding in and out of focus before my eyes. “I saved him… in the sinking city. Then the mirror was destroyed… I knew I couldn’t get both of us out. The demon… and the whole journey.”

Flynn gazed down at me pityingly and nodded. He probably thought it a kindness to indulge the ramblings of a dying madwoman.

“So, he is your sweetheart? Did you get separated?” It took me a minute to concentrate on his question, because something was persistently scratching at the door of my mind. Battering at it, really. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it wouldn’t go away.

_Where? Where are you?_

Thoughts. Need to order my thoughts. Balance.

“I should have died down there.” The scratching wouldn’t stop. The whispers wouldn’t leave me alone. They pushed my jumbled consciousness into a direction I didn’t understand.

“You are alive, for now. But your fever is still rising. Is someone looking for you, girl? Should I send word to anyone?”, Flynn asked.

His words seemed to dance in front of my eyes like couples waltzing at a festival. Then they all jumped into a giant cauldron, swirling and swirling and swirling. I really was a madwoman.

_Where. Ask him where._ The answer to that question was important. Immensely important. I felt like I was slipping and sliding into the quicksand of my senseless thoughts.

“Where… am I?”, I managed to ask. I had the odd impression that someone else had taken over the reins, and I had been demoted to being a passenger in this strange ride.

“In the far northern Brecilian Forest. My hunting lodge is on the outskirts of a small fishing village – Seameet. Although I doubt you will hold that in your mind for long.”

I knew a sudden rush of triumph that lasted for the blink of an eye. And then a strange weariness broke over me, so soft and gentle. A soothing voice sang. Beautifully clear, like a nightingale.

_Sleep, sleep now. Rest, preserve your strength. Endure. Hold on. Live. _

I wanted to. Oh, how very much I wanted to. But I was so incredibly tired, and in so much pain.

_Please, Iris. Promise me you’ll fight!_

My breath came out as a deep sigh. Flynn exchanged the cloth on my forehead for a new one, cool and comforting on my burning skin.

“Aye.”, I murmured to nobody in particular. 

“That’s the spirit, girl. Sometimes, it’s all we can do. Say aye. Say yes to life. May the Maker hear that prayer. I hope he does.”


	44. XLIV. The Price of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friends, I am so so sorry that you had to wait so long for this chapter! So close to the end, I am prone to horrible writer's blocks. I kind of get "afraid" to finish it, you know... But I managed to overcome it and bring you this one! Ahhh all the drama ;_; My poor Selkie... But soon things will truly be looking up for everyone! A happy end is coming, I promise <3  
Have fun reading!!

### XLIV. The Price of Hope

_The Vanguard_

* * *

After we had informed the others of our plan, Roslyn and I prepared ourselves. We ate and drank for sustenance, gathered our minds with a few focusing techniques. When both of us where as ready as we thought we would be, Roslyn sat me down in the cabin. She asked me to be perfectly still as she splayed her hands on the tattoos winding across my left arm.

Her touch was… not a comfortable thing. I didn’t like so much of her skin in contact with mine, but I resisted the urge to pull away. A bit of unpleasantness was a small price to pay for finding Selkie.

Hours seemed to pass while the two of us sat there, side by side. I’m sure the others were poised and waiting outside on deck, but they had been instructed not to disturb us in any way. Roslyn’s eyes were closed, her brow beaded with the sweat of concentration.

As time went by, I began feeling her frustration and anger. She kept berating me for moving too much or breathing too loudly, while in the next breath she cursed at herself. I let her vent her anger at me because I understood it completely.

Within the depths of our hearts, we both nursed the most fragile of hopes. With every passing minute where we found no sign of Selkie, that hope was slowly breaking apart. For how long could we be searching, before we accepted the fact that she was… lost to us? 

I shook my head, sealing my heart to that thought. Not yet. Not yet. 

It was late that night when suddenly, Roslyn tensed up, her grip on my arm tightening. A violent shiver went through her, and I knew at once that she had found something. I didn’t dare to break her concentration, and so I sat there staring at her taut features. Her lips moved several times, but no sound came from her. When I thought I couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, Roslyn took a sharp breath. Opening her eyes, she looked straight at me. 

“She is alive.”

I cannot rightly describe what I felt at the sound of those three simple words. I felt as if I had just survived a terrible illness. Relieved, but… weak. Fragile. I could not bear another tragedy.

“She’s alive but hurt. Very hurt. We have to get going as soon as possible. I need to –“ Roslyn was standing up, but apparently the search for her sister had made her dizzy and disoriented. I caught her arm as she stumbled sideways.

“Thank you. I need to… to get to Iris before she is too weak for healing magic. Open the door please.”

I did as she asked, bracing her with one hand while I gritted my teeth against the pain in my injured leg. Outside the cabin, everyone who had accompanied us on our journey was waiting for us.

Alistair and Alec, two men who were known for their jesting and wit – now they looked more serious than I had ever seen them. The Bull, Varric, Cole and Dorian stood talking quietly, but they immediately fell silent when Roslyn and I appeared in the doorway. I saw the Stormchaser’s crew waiting further back, with Matthias and Ariu at the front. Everybody’s eyes were on us.

“Seameet – fishing village at the northern edge of the Brecilian Forest. Do you know it? How far is it?”, Roslyn demanded without preamble. Ariu and Matthias exchanged a look, before the latter turned to Old Sam. There was a short murmur between them.

“It’s hard to say – we can’t be exactly sure where _we_ are. I can guess though… Two days perhaps, if the winds are favourable. Four if they are not.”, Matthias answered. “Did you – did you find her?”, he added then, an almost imperceptible tremble in his voice.

Roslyn nodded. “Yes, I found her. She’s alive.” Varric and the Bull both let out yells of delight, but Roslyn hushed them with a gesture.

“Iris is alive, and she needs us. We can’t afford to waste another moment. We need to reach Seameet, as quickly as we can.”

“And we will.” After handing his crutch to a frowning Matthias, Ariu stepped forth into the centre of our circle. He seemed to stand straighter, almost as if he had never suffered through months of torture and deprivation.

“Matthias, have the men pull in the sails. And you”, Ariu addressed the people standing on deck. “Please clear this area. Find yourselves a nice spot with something to hold on to.”

“But Ariu –“, Matthias protested, stopping short when Ariu held up a hand.

“The sails. Now.”, he repeated in a strict voice. While most of the others hurried to obey Ariu’s orders, Roslyn and I watched the frail elf as he executed a few cautious movements. He circled around the cleared deck with steps which must have once been fluent and graceful.

Now he moved with the exaggerated carefulness of one who’d experienced too much pain – the limp in his gait, the woodenness of his steps. An old man. I had no notion what he intended to do in this state. He couldn’t be thinking of weaving? He could barely stand.

“Ser, if I may ask…”, I began guardedly.

“You may, but you might not like the answer.”, Ariu said almost cheerfully, flexing his knotty fingers as though working to disperse the stiffness in them. 

“How will we get to Selkie in time?”

“I will weave us there, of course.”, he answered with a patience as though he was explaining something to a child.

“But Ariu, didn’t you lose your ability to weave during our imprisonment?”, Roslyn wondered, causing Ariu to flash her a smile I can only describe as mischievous.

“I did. Although ‘lose’ may be the wrong word. Rather I sacrificed my weaving to gain a bit more time. More time to be alive.” He paused, his blind gaze trained on the far horizon, where the starlit dome of the sky melted seamlessly into the twinkling waters of the sea.

It was one of those nights Selkie would have loved. On nights like these, we’d hide away at the ship’s stern. She’d sit on the railing, leaned back against my chest, and point out the constellations. The Maiden is always above the Shadow. The White Wolf chases Chaos, but runs from Silence. She’d be proud, because I remembered them…

When I resurfaced from those deep thoughts, Ariu seemed to be looking at me. It was eerie, almost as if he could see right into my mind. Perhaps he could.

“I don’t understand.”, Roslyn said, her expression confused. Before he replied, Ariu inspected the masts above, where the sails were being tied up with great haste. Then he turned back to us.

“Ah, but you do, dear girl. Even before you came to share my prison, I had little strength left. I lay dying in the darkness. But I was not ready to go. _Hope_ kept me alive. I didn’t hope for myself, no. I hoped that by staying alive, I could distract Claudio from the search for my daughter, and keep her safe. And within that darkest hour… he came to me.”

I didn’t comprehend what he meant, but then something Cole had said flashed through my mind: “_He is like me but… bigger. He knows many things, but he never came to this side before. There was no reason to.”_

As if my thoughts had conjured him, Cole appeared by my side, gazing intently at Ariu.

“They will be together now, until the end. It was a deal made, and a promise kept.”

Ariu smiled gently. As he did, his milky eyes seemed to shine with an inner light. Something else hid cleverly within that light, something intelligent and old and giving, just like the man who stood before us.

“So it is, spirit friend. Hope rarely seeks this world. There is little of interest for him here, where most people think of themselves first. But he helped me so much already. And now… he will help me to reach my daughter.”

The moment he finished his sentence, his eyes flared up like bright beacons. I sensed a power within him, strange and unfamiliar. Magic surged and fulminated through every part of his body, fuelling him. Energizing him.

“I have seen this before.”, Roslyn whispered as we – and I’m sure the others as well – watched the happenings with both shock and awe.

It was as though Ariu’s veins suddenly ran with liquid light. Glowing lines appeared everywhere on his skin, along his arms and on his face. He became a vessel of pure magical power, in ways I could hardly understand. As the elf turned and lifted his hands, the sea rose up at his command, pushing us forward with a sudden, mighty wave.

I saw the tattoos on Ariu’s arms and back, glowing so strongly that the patterns shone through his clothes. Water rushed, gurgled and clashed against our hull, the force of the motions making me stumble back. I caught the railing in time, crouching down to brace myself. Roslyn had done the same, supported by a very harried Alistair.

“My friend Wynne – she merged with a spirit as well. She told me a spirit of Faith came to her when she was close to death, or… or perhaps she had truly died, fighting the abominations at Kinloch Hold. In any case, the spirit saved her.”, Roslyn remarked loudly. 

“I remember Wynne.”, I said, raising my voice to carry above the rush of the water.

“She gained strong magic through her connection to the spirit, but… It comes at a price –“, Roslyn broke off when a wave crashed against our portside, sending seaspray several feet high over the railing.

My muscles locked tight as a great lurch lifted the whole ship and sent it down again. The wind grew stronger, and I understood why Ariu had made the sailors pull in the canvases: They would only have hindered us. As the ship moved quicker and quicker upon the waves, I was troubled by the reckless way in which Ariu spent his powers.

We were incredibly fast – faster than Selkie had ever weaved us. What price would he pay for this unbound strength? He’d told us that he’d sacrificed his weaving to stay alive. Now, while we travelled the seas at a speed I couldn’t ever have imagined, I feared that Ariu was doing the opposite – sacrificing his life-force to weave us to Selkie.

To my templar senses, he was a burning comet, so bright it hurt to focus on him for too long. He radiated energy like a blazing sun. Nobody could keep that up without dire consequences.

We held on to the ship, all of us crouched and leaning against the speed, all of us wondering if it would be enough. If we would reach Selkie in time.

The Stormchaser flew across the sea without ever slowing. For the rest of the night and the entire following day, Ariu pushed us onward relentlessly. Up on the quarterdeck, Matthias handled the wheel with an expression of grim determination. Some of us retreated below deck for a few hours of sleep, but I feared that seasickness would claim me if I went into the cabin.

So I stayed, sitting with my back against the railing and my smarting leg stretched out in front of me. I drifted off into an uneasy sleep from time to time, dozing for mere moments before some motion or other woke me again. Roslyn had not told me exactly how hurt Selkie was, and now she had gone to sleep to gather strength.

During the endless hours of our daring journey, I sent dozens of prayers to the Maker. I begged him to spare my love from suffering. To let her live, because a soul like hers deserved happiness, not more pain.

She was good. From the surface of her skin to the bottom of her heart, she was good. Kind and generous. Brave and loyal. It was in her bones. Her blood.

“Please.”, I whispered into the winds, not sure anymore who I was pleading to. Someone. Anyone.

As the day neared its end, the sun plunged slowly over the edge of the sea in the far distance. And on our other side, land had appeared, quickly coming closer. The shoreline was mostly cliffside, with a few stretches of rocky beach in between.

Above the cliffs, the ancient trees of the Brecilian Forest rose, their crowns so thick that they seemed to form a green blanket stretching as far as the eye could see. As we neared the shore, Ariu slowed the ship gradually, until the Stormchaser was drifting gently towards the land.

At the exact moment when the anchor was dropped, Ariu’s power suddenly burned out, like a fire extinguished. The glowing veins of light on his body disappeared. As the strength he had gained from Hope waned and shrivelled, so did Ariu himself. With nothing but a sigh, he crumpled to the ground like a limp puppet released from its strings.

“Ariu!” Matthias was running down the stairs, but I was closer. I lifted the frail elf, troubled by his neglectable weight. He was so light. Insubstantial somehow, as if he might simply… fade away.

“Bring him to the cabin –“, Matthias began, but Ariu stirred, shaking his head.

“No. Not inside. I want to… feel the wind. Smell the sea.”, he said hoarsely. At Matthias’ instruction, two sailors quickly built a pallet of blankets and pillows up on the quarterdeck. I set Ariu down onto it. Matthias kneeled beside him. Old Sam brought water, Kitten came with food. Roslyn and Dorian both rushed in to offer healing, but Ariu refused them all harshly.

“Leave me! Don’t dawdle. Selkie needs you. Go now, the boat is being readied.”

While the others obeyed, some profound awareness made me stay for another moment. Roslyn seemed to sense it as well, since she went down on her knees and took Ariu’s hand in both of hers.

“Thank you. For everything.”, I heard her whisper, before she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead. With a small sniff, she stood and squared her shoulders.

“Ser… Can I do anything…?”, I asked quietly, crouching to be closer to him.

“I’m dying, son. Nothing anyone can do about that.”, Ariu replied with a slight smile. “Hope has brought me this far. But now… Well, he should return to the Fade. It’s not right for him to be with me this long. I already got more time than I’d ever expected.”

Silence fell for a minute. I swallowed, struggling to think of something to say. My head was oddly blank.

“But… Selkie will be devastated.”

“Ah…”, he sighed out a long breath. “I know. I can only hope that someday, she will understand.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant – what was it that she needed to understand? But before I could, Ariu waved me off.

“Go now. You’ve wasted enough time. Save my daughter!”, he rebuked me. As a sign of my deep-felt respect, I stood and bowed to him. When I lifted my head again, Matthias was gazing at me pensively.

“I’ll stay with him. Once more, we entrust the fate of our daughter to you. Don’t fail us.” I thought he wouldn’t say more, so I turned to leave. To my great surprise he grudgingly added:

“You are a good man, Cullen. Maker guide you to Selkie.” 

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “Thank you both. For all you have done.”

* * *

Sitting in the boat with the others, I heard Matthias’ deep, gravelly voice drift across the waves. He sang for Ariu. His song followed us as we rowed towards the shore, and that wistful melody weighed my heart with a heavy certainty. I took a deep breath, turning my attention to the cliffs and dense woods ahead. I would make sure that Ariu’s sacrifice was not in vain.

“Why not bring us to the village docks? I saw them from afar.”, Alec wondered when we had pushed our boat to safety on the shore and searched the beach for signs of civilization.

“Because Selkie is being sheltered in a hunter’s lodge outside the village. This must be closer.”, Roslyn said.

“This way, I think.” She pointed at a narrow path between two greater rocks which seemed to lead up through the crags.

One after the other, we began climbing the steep, stony path, with me in the lead and Alec at the very back. At the top of the bluff, the grey stones melted almost seamlessly into moss and underbrush.

Trees grew closely together here, some of their roots even embracing the rocks on the edge of the cliffside. I was not very good at tracking in the wilderness, but I could clearly see a beaten path meandering its way between tall bushes and moss-covered trunks.

“One light-footed human’s prints. He has a dog, too. Might be a mabari, or perhaps a mabari cross-breed.”, Varric murmured behind me.

“Peculiar dog in any case. The hunter uses this path regularly. Saw another trail leading off into the woods, but it’s fainter. We’re on the right track.”, the Bull added.

I felt reassured by their presence. They guarded my back.

We continued through the forest along the narrow trail, until it seemed that the trees were becoming a bit sparser. Here and there I saw chopped-off branches, or bushes cleared of their berries.

At last, I caught sight of the hunter’s lodge. It was a typical Fereldan building as you often see them out on the countryside: sturdy wooden supports; grass and moss sprouting on the roof; carvings adorning the solid door.

Before I could turn back to the others to announce my findings, a harsh voice made me stop in my tracks.

“Another step and you’re done, friend.”

With one hand, I signalled the others behind me to stop. I couldn’t see the man who’d spoken, but I heard the distinct sound of a bowstring being drawn tight. He was somewhere in the bushes, pointing an arrow at me.

“We are looking for a woman.”, I began. “She is badly hurt and in need of healing. She has black hair and –“

“Ah? Is that so?”, the man interrupted, this time from a different direction. I had to hand it to him – he moved soundlessly. “How can I be sure about your good intentions?”

“She’s my sister! Where is Iris? Let us through to her!”, Roslyn piped up angrily behind me.

“I know no Iris.”, the man threw back, sounding rather suspicious now.

“Selkie! Her name is Selkie.”, I hurried to correct the situation.

“Fair enough. And who are you?”

I opened my mouth, but Alistair forestalled me before I could speak. “Make way for your king, good man. If you helped Selkie, you will be rewarded handsomely.”

There was a short, barking laugh from the bushes, followed by a low growl. Probably the dog. But I couldn’t be sure.

“Did you hear that, Maya? The king of Ferelden, in my backyard! Well, butter my arse and call me a biscuit!”

“That’s a new one.”, Varric muttered under his breath.

“My name is Cullen Rutherford.” I spoke up, making the others fall silent at once. The charade had to end.

“If you have sheltered Selkie, then you are a good man, and we owe you a great deal. Please, we have been through too much. We almost lost her… We may be losing her right now. For the love of Andraste… let me through to her.”

I knew I was begging. I didn’t care.

A long pause followed my words. And then a man appeared between the barberry bushes ahead of us. He was middle-aged and weathered-looking, with dark hair and eyes. A dog prowled around his legs, something close to a mabari but not quite – it had shaggy fur. As if a sheepdog and a mabari… But I had no time to dwell on that. 

“The name’s Flynn.”, the hunter said, shouldering his bow casually. He eyed me once from head to toe, a cautioning twinkle in his sharp eyes.

“Your name and your honesty saved you from an arrow, Cullen Rutherford. Come. She’s inside.”

I was the first to step into the hunter’s hut, with Roslyn directly on my heels. The room smelled of sweat, blood and disease, even though a small window stood open at the far side to let the breeze in. Beneath it, a pile of straw and blankets was being used as a sickbed.

My heart almost stopped when I saw her. Even before I sank to my knees at the bedside, I noted the ashen tint to her skin, the hollow cheeks, the moisture on her brow. Her beautiful raven mane was straggly and unclean, and dark shadows were pooling beneath her closed lids.

With exceeding care, I lifted Selkie into my arms, letting her head rest gently in the bend of my elbow. She didn’t stir. Beneath the blankets, a simple linen nightgown covered her pale body, but the fever-sweat had drenched through the fabric in several places. Someone had bandaged both her hand and the cut on her back, as well as changed the bandages properly to keep the wounds clean.

I touched her damp forehead, brushing aside a strand of hair that stuck to her skin. She burned like fire. I leaned down, cautiously resting my brow against hers.

“I’m here.”, I whispered softly, my throat tight with emotion.

“She’s been unconscious for a day now.”, Flynn said, keeping his voice low. Except for him and his dog, none of the others had entered the hut. They stood outside, keeping a respectful distance. Waiting.

“I found her on the beach, badly injured and half-dead from thirst. The village herbalist, Agatha – she bound the girl’s wounds and set her leg. But… Fever hasn’t broken, and her leg – well… She’s in a bad way. I cared for her as best as I could.”

“Thank you, Flynn. You cannot know how much that means to us.”, Roslyn said feelingly. “Set her leg… What happened?”

“You should see it for yourself, mistress.”, Flynn said, sounding apprehensive.

As Roslyn lowered herself to my right side, I carefully pulled back the blankets. What came into view made my insides turn cold, and Roslyn gasp in shock. Selkie’s breeches had mostly been removed. From the knee downward, her left leg looked… shattered.

The shinbone had been set and splinted, but I recognized signs of a bad break. Black and blue bruises covered the skin, with scrapes and small cuts strewn in between.

And the knee… It was swollen to twice its normal size, angry red, pulsing. Maker, how it must pain her… I could hardly imagine it without feeling as though someone was twisting a knife around inside my chest.

“One of the boulders must have fallen on her… Maker, how did she escape? How did she survive that place?”, Roslyn wondered, her voice faint. She let her hands hover above Selkie’s leg and began to examine it magically. A soft, comforting light glowed along her palms and fingertips.

“She’s thinner than she’s ever been… Almost haggard.”, I noticed worriedly. She’d always been slender, but there had been a hardiness to her, her own brand of stamina. This was different. She felt brittle in my arms, breakable. When I looked down, I could see the hipbone protruding sharply beneath the linen shirt she wore. I wondered if she’d eaten anything solid since Claudio captured her.

“I tried to feed her, but her stomach would hold nothing, only the thin broth I make from pheasants.”, Flynn said.

“She’d been greatly weakened even before that city collapsed on us. Which means she’s fighting the infection with nothing.”, Roslyn observed bitterly. “And then there’s this leg. The knee… Literally shattered to pieces, like broken pottery. The shinbone – broken too. Treated, but it still needs readjusting.”

I turned my head to meet her eyes. She looked defeated.

“You can heal it. Tell me you can.”

Roslyn didn’t answer at once. She finished her examination, then let her hands sink into her lap.

“It isn’t that simple.”, she said heavily. “Healing magic doesn’t create something out of nothing. If it could do that, a healer would never let anyone die. To heal a certain part, you have to take strength from those places in the body where it can spare the strength. Iris… she doesn’t have the strength left for me to heal her leg. I could help her through the infection, at the expense of the leg…”, she trailed away absently, her mind obviously filing through complex healing spells.

_At the expense of the leg_… The thought of that stabbed me through the heart, again.

“Roslyn… Your sister loves to run. At Skyhold, she is a messenger – one of the best we have. She rides and dances and… climbs the masts on the Stormchaser like she was born to it. If you take that away… Her spirit will be broken. She’ll never be the same again.”, I pleaded.

Roslyn stood abruptly, erupting in a fury. “You are asking me to do the impossible! Maybe one healer in a thousand would even attempt to heal such an injury – and that would be on a patient who still has most of their strength. But in this state? She’s barely holding on… It will kill her!”, she yelled at me. I heard the others murmur outside, likely discussing if they should intervene.

“It won’t, because I am going to lend her strength.”, I said, keeping my voice calm.

“You want me to connect the two of you, so she can draw from your strength? Do you know how risky that is? You’re on the verge of total exhaustion yourself!”, Roslyn retorted flatly.

“You said whatever it takes. This is what it takes.” I met her gaze directly. My next words were serious and fully honest.

“You are the Hero of Ferelden. The best spirit healer of our generation. You have already done the impossible, and not just once. I’m asking you to do this because I believe in you.” 

For a small eternity, Roslyn stared at me with a mixture of anger and incredulity. She only broke her gaze when the king spoke quietly from the doorway.

“Can’t argue with the man, Rose. You _are_ the best of our generation.”

His words made her let out a hiss and rake her fingers through her long silver hair. Then she covered her mouth with one hand, looking at her sister. Selkie’s lids trembled restlessly, her breathing faint and shallow. As tenderly as though touching a newborn’s head, I let my fingers rest against the side of her neck, where the pulse fluttered like the wings of a struggling little bird.

“Roslyn.”, I whispered without looking at her. My eyes were on Selkie. “She’s dying. I can feel her… slipping away. I have enough strength left for us. Let me give it.”

A long, long beat of silence passed. Nobody said a thing. And then –

“You’re more stubborn than this king of mine. Fine.”, the Hero of Ferelden sighed.

Next I knew, she was striding through the room, giving out instructions in a soft but resolute voice. Varric and the Bull were sent to the village to get herbs from Agatha – mainly things to reduce swelling and ease pain. Others went to get water and bandages, to hunt for our meals or to set up camp around the hunting lodge.

Roslyn was an efficient and precise woman – her previous travels as a leader clearly shone through in her handling of our group. Nobody questioned her. While the things she needed were being readied, I continued holding Selkie in my arms, whispering softly to her. I’d come ashore without my armour – something I’d almost regretted when Flynn had pointed an arrow at me. Now it was a good thing that I had none of the heavy metal hindering me.

“She called for you, you know. In her fever-dreams.” Flynn stood beside me, his dark eyes pensive. “That is how I knew your name. Tough little thing. Isn’t she, Maya? Was Maya who found her there on the beach. Girl had clawed her way halfway to the cliffs.”

The large dog climbed into the sickbed with surprisingly light steps. She settled herself along Selkie’s flank with a tremendous sigh, as though saying that she was sorry it had all come to this.

“You really seem like you’ve been through a lot. Maker turn his gaze on you, friend.”

I nodded absent-mindedly to his words, not quite making sense of them. My thoughts were so deep and absorbed with worry, with a numbing fear, that I didn’t notice how people moved here and there, arranging things or bringing items Roslyn needed. I only became aware of my surroundings again when she ushered everyone out of the hut and closed the door behind them with a soft click, leaving us alone in the room with Selkie and Maya the dog.

“Now, Cullen…”, Roslyn said as she sat down to my right again, with Selkie’s injured leg in front of her. She mustered the scenery thoroughly before facing me with a frown.

“First, I need you to calm down.”

“I’m sorry?”, I blurted, confused.

“You are anxious, aren’t you? Terrified. I know because I am too. But I need you to control those emotions. Look at her.”, she instructed me. I did.

Selkie had begun panting in rapid little breaths, her brow furrowed, fingers twitching fretfully. She looked in pain. I realized it then. My fears were lapping over to her. When exhausted, afraid or hurt, she always had problems blocking out others’ auras. And she was even more sensitive to the qai of people close to her. Loved ones. Friends.

Closing my eyes, I took a calming breath. My anxiety might not show on the outside, but it was very real on the inside. I ran my thumb over a small patch of skin on her shoulder, beneath the linen collar. Warm. Alive. Hope.

Heart.

“It’s alright… It will be alright.”, I said to her, and to myself as well. Calming my mind was not an easy task, but after a while, Selkie’s breathing slowed and she seemed to relax a little. I opened my eyes and watched as Roslyn leaned over to me.

“Take her hand.”

Cautiously I slipped one slender, pale hand into mine, closing my fingers gently around hers. I knew when Roslyn began casting the bonding spell because my senses prickled with the magic radiating from her. Accompanied by almost melodious incantations, she conjured threads of white-blue light which wrapped themselves around Selkie’s and my joined hands. Roslyn draped more and more of these threads over each other, braiding them together until they looked like luminous handfasting ribbons.

Eventually, she tied the last thread into place. For an instant as she did this, I felt the connection clearly. It was a faint echo of what I had felt during the ritual of balance. There was this whole other person, but she was also part of me somehow. We were one thing, two pieces of _one_ thing… and I let my strength flow freely between us. There is really no better way to describe it.

When I opened my eyes, Roslyn was looking at me curiously.

“This is quite a complex procedure. It was surprisingly easy to connect you.”, she remarked while unrolling a small pouch containing a meagre supply of potions.

“We… have done something like this before.”, I replied.

Choosing the only blue potion left, Roslyn shook it up a bit and then uncorked the vial. The shimmering liquid disappeared down her throat, and I clenched my teeth against an acute pang of lyrium thirst. My pendant vibrated against my chest. Selkie’s fingers curled around my thumb ever so slightly. I sighed away the gathered tension.

“Alright, Cullen. Let her draw from you when she needs it, and try not to struggle or… tense up. It’s a strange sensation, this sharing of physical and spiritual strength. And aside from all of that, this will be a long, painful process for her, as well as for you. If you want a break, tell me right away.” She positioned her hands above the shin first.

“I understand. Anything else?”, I asked. Roslyn exhaled, her hands beginning to glow more strongly.

“Keep her with us. If she gives up, all of this will have been in vain.”

What followed was the longest, most gut-wrenching night of my life. For hours on end, Roslyn worked on Selkie’s leg and laboured to drive back the infection holding her in its grips. She spoke to me while she executed this most complex of healings, although I think it was more to keep her mind alert and awake than for my benefit. I listened, allowing the spirit bond to take from me what it needed.

“Rearranging these bone splinters back into their rightful places. Fusing the torn ligaments together again. Infection is receding here. Good, but not enough. I’m moving on to this part.”

At other times, she informed me of things I needed to do. “More salve against swelling. Yes, good… It’s going down.” Or, “You’re clenching. Relax.” Or even, “You closed your eyes for a second. Stay with me.”

It was exhausting. Demanding. Difficult. These few hours took every bit as much strength from me as my hardest battles ever had, if not more.

But worst of all was when the pain became so intense that even in unconsciousness, even despite the numbing herbs we’d given her, Selkie would moan or cry out faintly. The longer Roslyn took to rearrange the knee, to make it whole again, the worse the pain seemed to get. Rivulets of sweat had formed on Selkie’s neck. Her features were bloodless. Contorted with agony. She was trembling like a leaf. Constantly.

“The Royal Elfroot, quickly.”, Roslyn commanded eventually.

“This is the hardest part, Cullen. I have to push it all together now, and she won’t like it.” She seemed to be in a state of complete concentration, a thing I had only ever witnessed in the very best healers. There was no place for mercy or faint-heartedness when they were like this – all that mattered to them was their patient’s survival. No matter what it took. I have no idea how they did that.

And me? I had seen soldiers die on the battlefield in a hundred terrible ways. I’d seen demons devour people. Abominations work their horrors. Things which only dwelled in nightmares, come alive. I’d endured it all, somehow.

But I couldn’t bear watching my love, my heart, suffer like this. Desperately, I tried to coax her to swallow some of the paste Agatha had prepared from Royal Elfroot and spindleweed and who knew what else. Her jaws were clenching so tightly that I couldn’t infuse any of it into her mouth.

“Force it in if you have to! Believe me, you don’t want her to feel this without sedation!”, Roslyn hissed at me. I had no choice.

“Please, love. Please… let me…”, I begged Selkie, prying her jaws open. Forcing them open and pushing the medicine in. Everything inside me leaned up against using such violent means, but somehow I managed to make her swallow a bit of the paste. A moment later, Roslyn launched into the last stretch.

The hardest part.

And it was. Whatever the spell did exactly, it was painful enough that Selkie actually woke to scream. Her eyes flew open. Bright and blue and wide, she stared into nothingness, crying out her agony as her sister merged her bones back into place.

I held her. Tightly. As tightly as I dared. I held her together. Maker, I held us both together. To this day, I don’t know how I kept my nerve through it all. 

Roslyn huffed from the exertion. “Come on, Iris. I’m almost done. Stay strong now.”

Selkie’s voice faded into sobs and frantic, spasmodic puffs. After a while even those faded, and I knew she was in a place beyond tears.

“I’m here. I’m here.”, I repeated over and over, like a chant, like a prayer.

“This isn’t… a dream?”, she whispered thickly.

Hearing her voice made my vision blur. Something was wrong with my eyes.

“No. I’m here. This is real. I’m here.”

But when I pulled back a bit to look at her, I saw that she’d fallen unconscious again. Panicked, I touched her face, her neck, trying to rouse her…

“It’s all right. She’s just… resting.”, Roslyn wheezed out. “It’s over.” Slumping forward fecklessly, she breathed long, deep gulps of air. I stared at her, too shaken to immediately understand what she was saying.

“Over?”

“We did it. She’ll be alright, Cullen. The infection will clear soon. And the leg… Well on its way too.”

“She’ll walk?”, I asked, my voice hoarse and uneven.

“Walk… And run. And dance. It will take time and effort. But if she puts her heart into it, she’ll make a full recovery.”, Roslyn gave me a tired little smile.

I looked into her eyes, my throat constricting with all the words of gratitude crowding inside. I had to swallow several times before I was able to speak.

“Roslyn, I…” She held up hand to silence me.

“I know what you’ll say. You don’t have to. This is my sister. My flesh and blood. You were right. Whatever it takes.”

“Still… I will be thankful to you for as long as I live.” I paused for an instant, before adding sincerely: “Your Majesty.” 

She looked stricken by my words, shocked into silence. Then her head gave a tiny little jerk and she rose, ambling like a sleepwalker to the quilted armchair in the corner. She slumped into it, drifting off so quickly I feared she might have fainted. But her breaths were even.

And so were her sister’s.

When I touched my fingers to Selkie’s pulse, it was slow, but stronger than before. Steady. Cautiously I settled her back onto the blankets and wiped the sweat from her face and neck. I stretched out beside the bed, feeling the exhaustion of all that had happened weigh down on me. Feeling the relief, the heaviness rolling off my shoulders.

For the first time in days, I allowed myself to relax, to let my guard down. My people were close by, watchful. Maya protected her side. I held my sweetheart’s hand in mine still, her warm little hand.

She was safe.

I fell asleep within seconds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well - ever since I revealed that Ariu is still alive, I tried to prepare you for the inevitable with hints. Some were subtle, others were rather more obvious. It was heartbreaking for me to write this, because I had grown close to Ariu and his relationship to Selkie. I'm very sorry about his fate, but it is something I feel is necessary. As explained here, Ariu bonded with a spirit of Hope when he was in dire need, close to death. This spirit was the one who "induced" Selkie's dream about Ariu, and set the things in motion that would reunite Selkie with her family (in two ways!).  
Throughout this story, I have often brought in the concept of balance. There are the Waterweavers who are closely tied to it. Elya and Elwin, Strength and Spirit, and the balance between them. Or the balance of calm and fury in the sea. Ebb and flow. All these things. I feel that Ariu's fate is tied to this concept too. He gains the power to live on, to see his family one more time and to save his daughter when she needs him - but for her life, he sacrifices his own... And he himself knows all of this very well. He is at peace with this decision. He is ready to be "one with the sea", and that is what he means by saying that he hopes one day, Selkie will understand.


	45. XLV. One with the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears, thank you so much - as always - for your wonderful comments. They were filled with feels and encouragement and compliments that really made me quite emotional. Maybe that's the reason why I took so long for this chapter - it was the most difficult one to write for me - because I feel wistful that the story is coming to an end. I worked on this for over a year now. I invested countless hours, and since I don't have anyone who beta reads for me, I have nobody to correct or look over my chapters to see if they are sound. But through it all, you kept me going with your comments and likes and your great support.  
I have put Selkie and Cullen through so much. But the simple thing I love about them both is that they don't give up hope. They bounce back. In the end, they turn towards happiness no matter the hardships they endured. This chapter is about that - for Selkie especially. When I wrote it, I thought of the many times we stumble in life, and how every time it hurts a great deal. It's never easy. But we manage to get back up again. And after being with this beloved character for so long, I wanted to show the way she gets back up again.  
Okay damn, I got all mushy and embarassing... >.< It's just a story, but it does mean a lot to me <3  
I hope you enjoy it either way, even though it is both sad and kind of wonderful. There will be another main story chapter after this one, and I hope that I can wrap up some open issues with it. If you have any unanswered questions about the happenings, please post them (sometimes I overlook stuff) so I can address them!! 
> 
> Have fun reading <3

### XLV. One with the Sea

The Weaver

* * *

A brilliant morning dawned outside. It was one of those rare days where you think the world is born anew with the rise of a benevolent sun. Where spring is bursting into bloom, and the air is filled with a balmy breeze coming in from the sea. Birdsong drifted to my ears. Wind ruffled through the leaves of the trees. And a soft voice beckoned me to witness the awakening of life.

I was still incredibly tired, but somehow I managed to push the thick furs off me and get to my feet. My whole body hurt. I ignored the pain. Still drowsy, I swayed a little and glanced around.

Everybody was asleep, dreaming of simple things. Cullen lay half stretched-out beside my pallet. Roslyn was wrapped in blankets on the rocking chair. I didn’t see Flynn – he must have gone hunting already. It was a good day to hunt.

I could almost sense the abundance of animal energy in the woods, from the smallest to the largest. They know better how precious such a day is than humans do. Outside the door, Alistair sat on the porch with his eyes closed, snoring quietly. In the clearing in front of Flynn’s hut, tents had been set up. Surely the others were inside, sleeping off the hardships of yesterday. The remnants of a campfire smouldered at the centre of the small tent circle. Fragrant, resinous. Pinewood?

I wasn’t the only one awake. Ariu stood a little way along the narrow forest path which forked out to lead down to the beach. Something was different about him. He looked younger, spry even. Almost… radiant. I saw no crutch or walking stick in his hand. His face had lost the lines it had gained after the long imprisonment. The scars inflicted upon him seemed healed. But even though he looked whole and hearty, the wistfulness in his eyes troubled me.

“Dad! You shouldn’t be walking around. Your injuries… You should be resting!”, I exclaimed, suddenly worried. He smiled and shook his head.

“Rest won’t ease me. But perhaps a good swim will. This day is too gorgeous to waste.”

Turning away from me, he made his way down the winding path, his step light and fluent like waves on a sandbank. Baffled, I stood still for a moment.

“Wait!”, I called out when he disappeared behind the shrubbery. I followed him along the path, pushing aside leafy branches. Sunlight danced in dappled patterns on my hands, across the soft underbrush to my feet. I caught sight of Ariu from the corner of my eyes, but he always seemed one step ahead of me.

Finally, I emerged between the cliffs onto the shingle beach. The sudden brightness briefly blinded me. Unhurriedly, he walked into the water until he was ankle-deep. The sea whispered in frothy little waves over the pebbles, played around Ariu’s naked feet. A salty wind lifted his grey-white hair. It had turned wispy, like a puppy’s coat.

“Dad, it’s barely spring yet. The water will be cold.”, I complained. “Besides… I’m tired. Why don’t we go back? Sleep a bit longer, and then we’ll swim. It’s so early.”

He looked at me over his shoulder. A strange, enigmatic smile toyed around his lips.

“I’m tired too, _da’len_. Words can’t tell how tired I am. Yet… No, I don’t think I shall wait.”, he said calmly. Then he stepped forward, walking slowly into the sea, his hands fluttering across the surface as if weaving the water. I gave an exasperated sigh.

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you.”, I grumbled in a curt tone, anxious that he might actually sink because he’d not regained enough strength yet.

“No, Selkie. You stay. This place is not for you. Not for a long, long time yet.”, I heard his voice although he was almost too far in now to hear him speak. Something about his words… It sounded familiar. Where had I heard those words before?

A sudden overwhelming panic gripped me, and with one hasty leap I was wading into the water. It splashed up all around me, foaming, stinging, cold.

“Come on, stop this nonsense. You’re scaring me! Is this another of your pranks?”

I was waist-deep when I saw him between the waves. He glanced back at me once, a wide smile on his face. The widest I had ever seen on him. He looked… adventurous. Eager. He was still smiling when he closed his eyes.

And then I felt his qai fulminate, surging up around him with an intensity I had never experienced before. Instead of small and weakened, it went wide and open like the mighty ocean itself, as if he wanted to invite all the world to share the extraordinary life he had lived. To share all he had felt. His joys and his sorrows.

How fiercely he had loved. How deeply he had cared. How unwaveringly he had hoped.

My hands reached out to him, although I knew he was already too far gone. My heart, full to the brim with love and sadness, understood what my mind refused to acknowledge.

“Papa.”, I said brokenly, tears spilling from my eyes. “Don’t go, Papa.”

I was a child again, alone and helpless in a dark cellar. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I felt him. He lifted me from the darkness and held me in his arms. Swaying gently like the waves. For a short, fleeting moment, our connection was renewed, as strong as it had ever been.

“My darling girl. You are the light of my life. I will never truly be gone from you. Through time and tide, always. Remember that.”

And then Ariu, my father, my teacher, the man who had raised me as his own, for whose rescue I had crossed half the world… died.

His spirit frayed and scattered away from me, spilling out into the sea that awaited him with open arms. His soul joined the waters reaching from the Boeric Ocean to the Sundered Sea, embracing the whole world. He went without fear. Joyfully. Curiously. Greeting death as yet another journey.

“Wait! Please!”, I cried.

* * *

My own voice woke me. I blinked. Everything was the same as it had been in my dream. And somehow nothing was the same. The world had changed. Ariu was gone. Truly gone.

Cullen held my hand. The warmth of his fingers around mine was the only warmth I knew anymore.

My mouth was dry, the ugly taste of sickness lingering in my sore throat. I hurt all over. But nothing pained me as much as my wretched, grieving, bleeding heart. Subconsciously, I squeezed Cullen’s hand. It was a weak, light touch, but it roused him nevertheless.

His eyes flew open, and his gaze found mine immediately. I allowed my sorrow to open the floodgates. I wept in silence, without sobs or sniffs. The tears welled from my eyes, running down my temples and soaking into the pillows.

“Ariu is dead, Cullen.”, I whispered, my voice cracked and small. “My Papa is gone.” 

He didn’t speak. Instead, he gathered me into his arms so cautiously, as if I was a baby bird he’d found, injured by falling from the nest. Mindful of my wounds, he drew me against his chest, tucking my head under his chin. I clutched his shirt with both hands, clinging, letting down all walls. I knew my body smelled of sickness, my hair sweaty and unwashed.

Cullen didn’t care. He held me cradled in his arms as I wept, and kept holding me when my tears were all spent. Without ever saying a word, he let me find comfort in the warmth and strength of his body.

For some losses, there can be no words of sympathy, no magic spell to heal the hurt. They go too deep. Cullen knew that.

Soft rustling noises told me that someone else was moving around in the room. And then I felt a hand, gently fitting itself to mine. Palm to palm. It was small, smooth like silk.

Balmy water lapping over my skin. Warm summer nights spent whispering to each other, watching the stars from our bedroom window, huddled together in a blanket. Two girls, our bond even stronger in a world with three brothers. We always had to stick together.

My first impulse was to pull away. She was intruding upon my grief, a thing so private I didn’t want to share it with anyone except Cullen. But I didn’t. Because Roslyn’s sympathy was heartfelt. We had both mourned Rowan. She had been imprisoned together with Ariu, and she’d gotten to know him during those long weeks. I had been broken, but she had put me back together. I remembered her voice, calling out to me to keep fighting.

And… she was my sister. It was this moment when I finally accepted that.

Much later, I would look back on this time in my life and wonder. Wonder how much of it Ariu had foreseen. Wonder if it had been my destiny, as he had once told me. Wonder what might have happened if I had kept on living my linear, carefree life on the Tidedancer, and never set out on this great and terrible journey.

I would come to understand that my losses and my gains somehow fell into a peculiar harmony. That I had walked a strange path which balanced between love and sorrow, until it would arrive at a point where they merged into something more. Something we don’t have a word for, perhaps. Not yet. Maybe never.

But that level of wisdom would take me years. When I awoke into my second chance at life, the awakening was not a happy one. Grief and pain were so overwhelming, I could hardly think straight. The first few days after my brush with death passed in a haze, like a drunk’s dream. To be honest, my mind shies away from remembering those days. I only recall pieces.

Cullen and Roslyn took care of me. I couldn’t fall asleep without one of them by my side. Any time someone else tried to come close, I would scream. Neither Cullen nor Roslyn ever made a mention about this time, not even years later, but I think it must have been an absolute nightmare for them. My behaviour cannot be excused, yet all I can say is that I wasn’t myself.

I was _beside_ myself. Outside of my own skin. Maker, the way I acted…. I yelled at people for no reason, only to cry moments later. I refused food. I’d lash out when Cullen or Roslyn would try to apply salve to my wounds. My leg hurt. It hurt all the damn time.

They tried to coax me to sit up, do this, and do that, move around. I’d ignore them. I’d deliberately pull away when Roslyn wanted to examine my knee. At night, I’d scream myself hoarse and wake from nightmares of formless terrors, my whole body soaked in cold sweat.

One evening, about a week after I had woken up, I lay on my pallet and stared up at the ceiling when I heard soft voices through the open window.

“… All I know is that she is not herself. I have never seen her like this.”, Cullen said, his tone hushed but urgent.

“It has nothing to do with the healing, Cullen. The healing went well. But while her body is on the mend… Her mind has yet to follow.”, Roslyn sighed. It seemed that the conversation wasn’t just between the two of them.

“Think of all she’s been through.”, Alec mused. “There is no spell to mend an injured spirit. Only time and patience will help her through it.”

The next one who spoke was Varric. “Yeah, and Captain Joyful isn’t getting awarded for being father of the year. He still hasn’t come to see her.” 

A short silence fell. Maya lifted her head to look at me from her place in front of the fire. I swallowed, thinking about my father, grieving alone. I had never known him without Ariu’s softening touch. What kind of person would he become now? Would he lock himself away behind yet more walls? We could share the grief. Only the two of us knew Ariu so well, and for so long… Had known, I corrected myself bitterly. But Matthias had always dealt with such things in his own way.

I shifted to my side, turning my back on the rest of the world. A moment later, Maya had come to lie down beside me. I felt her warmth along my spine, but still I shivered. Someone entered the lodge. I curled in around myself and pretended to sleep.

It is difficult for me to describe what I felt in that first week. I had fallen into a deep, black pit, an abyss of my own making, and it felt like nothing would ever lift me out of it. 

They could have given up on me. A part of me even wished they would, because it was what I deserved for punishing them the way I did. I can’t explain the reasons behind my irascible behaviour – because reason had nothing to do with it. It was irrational. I think I wanted to make them angry just to make those frightening looks in their eyes disappear.

They looked at me as if I had died.

Especially Cullen. The fear felt permanent on him, like a brand on his skin. Sometimes I woke at night to the sensation of his hand on my chest, as if he needed to check if my heart was still beating. I was awful to him, and he just took it. He endured me and my insanity with an infinite patience. I allowed nobody else to wash me or help me see to my bodily needs. Or to hold me when I cried.

* * *

On a misty, overcast morning, Matthias stood in the doorway of Flynn’s hut. He had simply manifested there like an otherworldly apparition. With cautious steps, he approached me, his steely eyes looking me over methodically. He was thinner than I remembered, almost gaunt. Instead of saying something to me, he lifted his head after a while and spoke to Cullen.

“You’ll carry her then?”

“Yes.”

And with that, my father disappeared again. I rose to a sitting position and stared after him.

“Carry me where?” Those were the first words I spoke that day, and I had to clear the grittiness from my throat because I sounded so hoarse. Cullen didn’t answer at once, but came over to me with an assortment of clothes held in his hands. He laid them out in front of me to choose from. I ignored them.

“Carry me where?”, I asked again. He waited until I met his eyes before answering.

“The funeral, sweetheart. I told you about it yesterday, remember?”

“Oh.”, I said, and then fell silent. Frowning down at the clothes, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts. Of course Ariu would have a funeral. Why wouldn’t he? Somehow I’d always thought that, if any of my family died, we would have a burial at sea for them. Not that I had seriously assumed it would come to that…

“Which one would you like to wear?”, Cullen called on my attention patiently. I looked at the clothes. They were all the same, really.

“Where’s my coat? My mariner’s coat.”

“I’m sorry, love. After everything… It was ruined beyond repair.”, he replied.

“I see… Then, it doesn’t matter which one. This one.”, I picked up a random piece of clothing. Cullen helped me change into the muted grey tunic, before he began the slow, maddening process of putting me into breeches. My leg was still splinted from the knee down, so we had to cut and fold back the fabric on one side. When he was satisfied with my attire, Cullen kneeled down beside my pallet.

“Put your arm around my neck.”, he said softly, sliding his hand beneath the bend of my knees. He was very careful and gentle, lifting me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all. I let my head fall against his chest, and was momentarily reminded of the stable fire so long ago, where he had carried me back to my room. It felt like years had passed since that night. 

We exited the cabin to find the campsite deserted. I had been so out of it these past days that I had no idea what the others had been doing. Varric, Dorian, Alec… The Bull and Alistair. Cole. They had all undergone this nightmarish journey with me, and I hadn’t even acknowledged them since I’d woken up.

“The others have gone ahead already.”, Cullen explained as he traversed the campsite and took us along the path leading into the forest.

“What if I don’t want to go?” My voice sounded like a child’s.

“You don’t mean that.”, he whispered. I was quiet for a long moment, watching the trees pass by. Cullen’s gait was so smooth, I barely felt any pain in my leg.

“No, I don’t mean it.”, I said at length. “But I don’t… don’t want to see him all… lifeless and crumpled. It’s not how I want to remember him.”

Cullen didn’t speak, but waited. By now, he knew exactly when to stay silent in order to make me talk. This was one of those times.

“He visited my dreams. To say farewell, I think. I want to remember him like that… Whole and alive. Laughing as he swims out to sea and then… he is _in_ the sea. Part of it. Within.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat.

“You have watched his spirit return to the sea. Now you will honour him by returning his body to the earth. Is that not what he wanted?”, Cullen said as he ducked beneath a branch. I looked up at him in surprise.

“How do you know that?”

He halted for a moment, seeking out my gaze. The colours of the day were subdued by a cloudy sky, but I could still somehow see the brilliance of his qai shimmer behind those amber eyes. It was the first time since Sea’s Heart that I felt my power stir at all.

“Matthias told me. And it seems… fitting, somehow. I have only known Ariu for a short time, but all your stories, the way you tell them – they make me feel as if I have known him for years. He was a good man.”, Cullen went on, his voice grave. “I shall miss him.” 

For the rest of our trip, I was silent. It shocked me to realize that Cullen seemed to mourn for Ariu. Had I been too absorbed in my own grief to understand that others had felt the loss too?

Ariu had loved this world. No matter how unforgiving or cruel it became, he’d never stopped believing in the goodness of it. And aye, it was fitting to lay his body to rest within the earth – so it would become a part of this world in the same way his spirit had. This world he’d put all his hopes in. The fact that Cullen had understood this about Ariu meant that he _had_ truly known him.

“I’m sorry.”, I whispered just when we emerged from the forest into an open space covered with lush green grass. I didn’t quite know what I was sorry for – that he had lost Ariu as well, or the way I had acted since I’d awoken, or perhaps for putting him through all of this. His hand around my shoulder hugged me close against his chest, and I felt him brush a kiss to the crown of my head. 

“Me too.”, he breathed.

A wide, green plain stretched out before us, ending in a steep cliffside which fell down into the sea below. I could hear the rush of the waves, rising and clashing against the unyielding stone. Further ahead, people were waiting for us.

They had all come.

Cullen carried me up to a soft patch of grass near the cliff, and set me down onto a prepared blanket.

Someone had already dug the grave. It wasn’t that big. With a morbid kind of fascination, I wondered if my own grave would be this size or smaller. Had I died, would they have buried me here as well? I wouldn’t have minded lying here. It was a nice bit of land.

A few minutes had passed perhaps, when my father and Kitten appeared at the treeline. Old Sam was behind them, his burly arms carrying a body wrapped in white linen. I swallowed, struggling to steel myself against the tidal wave of emotions. 

Their small procession moved like spectres through the night. Gracefully approaching the burial site, until they were level with us. Old Sam went to his knees in front of me and set the body down into the grass.

I stared at the white, white linen as if in a trance. My head was completely blank. I couldn’t grasp a single sane thought. At the back of mind, I became aware that the others retreated respectfully to give my father space. He kneeled down at my side.

From the corner of my eye, I watched as he carefully, almost tenderly readjusted the folds of the cloth. Smoothed them with his hands, the way Ariu had smoothed the lapels of his shirts sometimes. Then he leaned forward and shocked me gently pressing his lips to Ariu’s shrouded forehead.

“Farewell, beloved.”, he whispered. “Be at rest.”

Even in all my years as their daughter, I had never heard him call Ariu beloved. That he used this private endearment now, in front of everyone, unashamedly… It speared me through the heart then.

This was goodbye. I couldn’t run from it, and I couldn’t be destroyed by it. That was not what I had been taught. Hesitantly, I reached out and put my palm onto the cloth, to the place where someone had arranged his fragile hands, one on top of the other. I bowed close to him, my voice too low for anyone to hear.

“Goodbye, Papa. I love you.”

We buried Ariu on this grassy bluff overlooking the Amaranthine Ocean, with the ancient trees of the Brecilian Forest standing watch at his back. The Bull, with his immense strength, brought in a white stone that would mark this final resting place. I had no idea where they had found it. The surface was smooth and almost polished, like marble. Alec and Dorian stepped forward, magic spilling from their hands. As precisely as master craftsmen, their spells etched a simple, beautiful pattern of waves into the stone.

Varric gave a short eulogy, speaking of how Ariu had endured a time of impossible deprivation and hurt to be able to reunite with his loved ones one more time. And how he was at peace now, knowing that we would be safe. Cole added quietly that Ariu’s memories would live on within Hope forever, untarnished by time. Roslyn laid flowers onto the grave, accompanied by Alistair. Old Sam drank to Ariu from his flask, as a traditional sailor’s farewell. Kitten simply stood there, ashen-faced and stunned.

The whole time, Cullen was at my side. He didn’t move or speak, but I felt his presence through it all. He was just _there_, and that was all I needed from him.

When there was nothing more to say or do, the others slowly began dispersing. They returned to camp or to the village, some to the ship. I sat and looked at the headstone, thinking about too many things and yet nothing at all.

A hand suddenly settling on my shoulder startled me. I shifted to see Matthias, half-crouched beside me. He was gazing at the grave with a pensive expression.

“We have to do better, you and I.” 

After an endless, silent moment, I gave a small nod. “Aye. We will.”

“He loved you, you know. More than life itself. And I –“There was an odd catch in his voice, and he cleared his throat before he continued. “And I was never good with… with love. But you’re my daughter, and I…”

“It’s alright, Dad.”, I interrupted, releasing him from the need to say it. He was so uncomfortable, I took pity on him. He’d been about to say the words I had always wanted to hear from him, but suddenly I didn’t need to hear them. I felt them. And that was enough.

“I love you too. We’ll do better. For Ariu.”, I said quietly. His hand squeezed my shoulder once, and then he stood, exhaling as though he had just shed a heavy weight.

I looked up at Cullen, who had stepped back from us.

“I think I want to go now.”, I told him.

“Alright.”, he said, and came to carry me back to the cabin.

* * *

It was late afternoon on the next day when I think I surprised everyone. Cullen had brought me out to the campsite, and I’d been sitting there, watching the others go about their business. Alistair and his King’s Guard captain were in a serious discussion. The king needed to return to Denerim, since he had been away for quite some time. Alec, Dorian and the Bull were preparing themselves to travel with him as far as Denerim, and from there they’d ultimately journey back to Skyhold. Cole and Varric would stay with us, and accompany us back home when I was well enough to travel.

At some point, Roslyn came over to me and examined the bandaging around my knee.

“How are you feeling today?”, she murmured, testing the soundness of the splints. I took a breath of courage.

“I want to stand up.”, I declared.

My words hadn’t been very loud, but I swear, everyone around the campsite stopped what they were doing, as if I’d just proclaimed something impossibly scandalous. Varric halted while cleaning Bianca. Cullen looked up from the letter he’d been writing, suddenly alert. Even the king broke off in the middle of his sentence.

Why were they all staring at me? Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze to my lap. Roslyn turned and hissed something under her breath. An instant later, everyone resumed their tasks with a deliberate lack of interest for me. Except Cullen, who kept glancing over at us every few seconds as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Alright.”, Roslyn said quietly. “Let’s see how much weight you can put on the leg, yes? Here, let me brace you.”

She was surprisingly strong when she wrapped her arm around my waist and heaved me up. I sagged against her, my healthy leg struggling to support my entire weight. A prickling sensation spread quickly through my limbs, warning me that I had been idle for much too long.

I felt like a new-born creature. Wobbly, unsteady… weak. Fighting against the strange dizziness in my head, I tried to shift some weight over to my injured leg. Bolts of stunning pain shot through my knee, but the utter lack of strength in the leg was what sent me falling sideways. My muscles simply refused their service.

The leg folded in beneath me, and the next I knew I was lying in the grass, panting from exertion. I bit back the tears of frustration, the moans of pain. Cullen had come to his feet, the expression on his face severely strained.

“I’m fine.”, I grumbled when he hurried over to help me back up. But he stopped in his tracks when Roslyn shook her head firmly at him.

“Well, you stood up. For a moment.”, she remarked almost cheerfully, rearranging my leg with a few deft movements. I didn’t smile, but I did give her a rather baleful look.

“It’s useless. It still hurts… and I’m too weak.” My voice sounded surly and whiny.

“Iris. Of course it hurts. Of course you are weak. It hasn’t been a fortnight since Sea’s Heart. You are still on the mend from those injuries. I healed the breaks, but you will have to rebuild your strength in time. I am no miracle worker.”, Roslyn told me seriously.

I cocked a brow at her. “You aren’t? So that Hero of Ferelden business was just an accident?”

A wide smile appeared on her beautiful face. Her lilac eyes shone as if I had just given her a priceless gift. The king’s chuckle was quiet, but audible. I caught a flash of fierce hope in Cullen’s eyes. They were acting very odd today.

“I’ll help you.”, Roslyn brought my attention back to her. “We will do movement exercises and get you a cane. We’ll build up your strength again with good meals. Give me a few weeks – perhaps a month – and I promise you, you will be alright. But you have to work with me, Iris. You can’t give up. I need you to put your heart into this.”

Reluctantly, I met her earnest gaze. “So… You are not going back to Denerim with Alistair?”

“Oh, well. Denerim is a draconic old lady who has difficulties with change. She needs to be prepared for my return, I think.”

This time, the corner of my mouth lifted against my will.

“Besides”, Roslyn went on with a smile. “When I do return, I would like you to walk by my side. Maybe we’ll even get you to dance until then.”

To this, I frowned. “Why would I dance?”

There was a spark of playful happiness in her eyes, but she quickly rearranged her features into something more stoic. Her answer was enigmatic. “You’ll see. So… What do you say? Will you let us help?”

Instinctively, I slid a glance at Cullen. His gaze was gentle. And so incredibly hopeful as he gave a decided nod. I exhaled my held breath.

“Alright.”

And so I chose to get back on my feet, quite literally. I honestly don’t think it was my own strength that finally made me want to rise from the deep, black pit. It was the love that surrounded me within the circle of my dearest people. When my deadened qai began budding again like a seedling after a cold winter, I felt their devotion, their friendship, their heartfelt affection for me. That feeling is equal to a strength that can never be measured, or even truly understood.

And it might be foolish, but I like to imagine that somewhere, in a world that comes after this world, Ariu nodded and smiled, agreeing with me. 


End file.
